Commonality
by fanofkdc
Summary: A case where Sara would normally crash and burn sets Grissom in the deep end instead.Oh, and with the chapter fifteen update, I got 'accused' of being antiabortion. I'm prochoice, I was only trying to convey how they might feel.
1. Chapter 1

TITLE: COMMONALITY

AUTHOR: fanofkdc

RATING: M

SUMMARY: AN INTERESTING FIND AT A CRIME SCENE LEADS TO INTERESTING FINDS ELSEWHERE; GSR.

A/N: ME AND MY SMUTTY MIND - I WAS LOOK FOR 'CRANEFLY' IN THE INDEX OF MY BOOK ON BEETLES, AND IN THE PROCESS CAME ACROSS AN ENTRY READING 'COMMON COCKCHAFER.' BLAME CINCOFLEX FOR THE INFLUENCE ON THIS ONE.

The night air was cool, the sky around the suburban landscape punctuated by flashing police lights.

"Okay Brass, what have we got?" Gil Grissom, sporting sunglasses and CSI windbreaker, ducked under the yellow crime scene tape, holding it up for Sara to pass under, his kit in his other hand. Sara smiled her thanks, sauntering languidly over to the stocky detective.

Brass nodded in acknowledgement to Sara and Grissom, turning slightly to look over his shoulder. Several police officers stood on the neatly manicured lawn, sharing words and looks, disdainfully observing the 'nerd squad', but casting more appreciative glances in Sara's direction. As Brass turned to face them, they all parted, making way for him and the two CSIs.

Sara found it hard to ignore a couple of whistles thrown in her direction, but at a call of 'I wouldn't mind bein' autopsied by _you_,' she dropped her kit on the driveway and stalked up to the offending party, pushing her lanky body in front of him. "Look here, you piece of shit. I may be a woman, and I may have a nice ass, but I've got a brain, and hands that have cut dicks off of bigger jocks than you. Another sexually-loaded word out of you, and you'll be laying on the floor empathising with Lorena Bobbitt's husband. Got that?"

Taken aback by Sara's outburst, the cop stepped back, his face flushing. The other cops around stared at the floor bashfully, occassionally sneaking glances at one another.

Grissom approached Sara, taking her elbow and steering her towards the house, getting Brass to follow her. He turned to the cop. "Next time that happens, you'll get reported to your superior, and you'll be stuck pushing pens for two weeks. By the way," he added, as he turned towards the house, "Ms Sidle doesn't have a medical degree, thus she's not permitted to perform autopsies. Her degree is in Physics, top of her class at Harvard." There was no disguising the pride in his voice.

No-one bothered to say that even if Sara didn't have a medical degree, she could still wait in on autopsies.

"As I was going to say before Officer Dumbass interrupted, it looks like an open-and-shut suicide. Coroner's examined the body, we'll take her out in a few minutes." Brass respectfully stood over the body, looking like Charon accompanying the souls over the Styx. He, Grissom and Sara stood in the living room, inspecting the body of a brunette female positioned in the centre of the room, blood spreading out in a macarbe Roschach on the cream carpet.

"What appears to be open and shut seldom is," Grissom replied, donning a pair of latex gloves. "Who found her?"

The three were joined by David wheeling in a gurney. "We got liver temp. She's been dead roughly six hours," the scalpel-wielding, fluffy-haired coroner replied to a question that hadn't been asked.

"Will you wait for us a second?" Sara told him, flashing him a brief smile.

"House-keeper. Stays in the house with the woman ..." Brass replied eventually.

"What's her name?" Sara inquired, eyes flashing.

"Miranda Roberts," Brass replied. "So, the house-keeper stays with Mrs Roberts and her husband, came in from late-night grocery shopping and found the body. "Alerted cops straight away, and here we are."

Sara's eyes flashed again. "How long would she have been out? Two hours at the most? That's still four hours to kill her. What about the husband?"

Grissom raised an eyebrow but said nothing, looking to Brass for an answer.

"The house-keeper had been visiting her elderly mother beforehand. We've already checked it out, the home have got records and CCTV to back us up. I know, four hours visiting your mother, but that's what the records say and we've got no reason to doubt them." He paused. "Husband's outside now, we're taking him in for routine questioning." He returned Grissom's look, knowing that Sara was probably already applying the cases of previous abused wives to this one.

Grissom, in a low, quiet voice, took control. "Fine. Get Warrick to check the perimeters when he gets here, get Cath to pull the records and CCTV from the home, have it sent to QD and AV respectively."

Brass nodded in agreement, and left the house. Grissom turned to David. "Okay, let me just get a picture of this," he said, referring to the body. "Sara?"

Sara approached the two of them, napping off four photos, her mouth a thin, straight line. When she had finished, Grissom nodded to David, and helped him zip the body up, loading it on to the gurney, getting David to wheel it out.

"Hang on a sec," Sara said, pointing to the carpet underneath where the body had been. There on the floor lay a crushed brown object.

Grissom knelt with cracking joints, fishing his tweezers from his pocket. He picked up the ... thing ... with great care, turning it over between the tweezers. "Not definitive, but this looks like _Omaloplia ruricola_."

Sara grinned in disbelief, leaning over Grissom's shoulder. "Common cockchafer?" she questioned, unable to keep a note of glee from her voice.

Grissom became distracted by her breath brushing against his ear, but straightened up, turning to face her, inspecting her with a cocked eyebrow. "And?"

"Only species of its genus to be found in Britain. I'm guessing it didn't just hop on a flight to visit a casino."

"Hand me a bindle."

Sara did so, and returned to swinging her flashlight around the room.

"So, what was that about before?" Grissom asked casually, checking the opposite side of the room.

"What was _what_ about? Or is this a clue in one of your cryptic crosswords?" she added, a hint of disdain settling in her voice.

"Come on," Grissom retorted slightly sharply. "Why'd you fly off the handle like that?"

"Don't act so surprised. You know I've got my defensive tendencies. He was treating me like sex object."

Grissom knew this, and felt highly jealous. "No he wasn't, he was simply trying to see if he could get a rise out of the geek squad."

Sara's eyes tightened in fury. "Why the fuck do you always have to be so _naive_?" she spat. Controlling her temper, she walked back to the centre of the room. "She's supposed to have shot herself, right?"

Grissom's eyes followed her. "Uh huh," he answered cautiously. "Why?"

"Where's the weapon?" From where the body had been, Sara took in a couch a foot away to the left, and nothing except a TV and another couch further away. "Help me move this," she commanded Grissom, motioning to the couch. They dragged it back, further away from the body would have bee, spotting a Colt .45 on the floor.

"If we're assuming she shot herself, which we're not," Grissom said quickly, "then for the gun to have slipped underneath here, she would have had to shoot herself with her right hand, which would flop to floor after she died. The gun would fall out and skitter under the couch."

"Something's not right about this," Sara muttered. Grissom looked at her. "I don't feel confident that this is a suicide."

Grissom closed his eyes. "Just because it doesn't feel right, doesn't mean it isn't. Don't assume that just because you have a feeling about it, this is a case of domestic abuse." The words came out faster than his ability to check them kicked in.

Sara's brow darkened. "When you assume, you make an ass out of you and me," she hissed through clenched teeth. "Don't assume that just because I have a bad feeling, it automatically swings towards the husband. For all _we_ know, it could be something set up by the house-keeper." Sara slammed her kit in anger, making Grissom wince. "You know what? Get Warrick to help you ine here, I'll go and do the perimeter," she said, fury still tinging her voice. She stormed out before Grissom even had a chance to open his mouth.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

"Bobby, do we have anything from that gun, yet?" Grissom stood in the doorway of the ballistics lab, watching Sara and Bobby chatting, leaning casually against one of the worktops.

Sara looked up sharply, all previous mirth vanishing from her face. "Grissom, I've been waiting here for twenty minutes, we still haven't heard from Trace yet, okay? I'm handling it," she added rather defensively, shooting Grissom a glare that could have levelled San Francisco.

"Have you got anything else for me?" he questioned.

Sara sighed and rolled her eyes. "You know the drill if anything comes up?" she asked Bobby.

He grinned. "Sure do."

"So what did you get?" Grissom asked insistently as they walked along the corridor to the morgue.

Sara said nothing until she opened the door into the cool, steel-themed room. "Hi Doc, have you got the body?" she asked, donning a lab coat.

Grissom followed her lead, feeling all at one very emasculated. He checked to make sure that he _wasn't_. "So?"

"I was right," Sara said absently, pointing to the corpse on the metal tray. She tenderly picked up the right hand, and Grissom peered in for a closer look. "No GSR," she said smoothly. "She didn't shoot herself," she said.

Grissom nodded and straightened up, gazing softly at Sara. "I guess you were," he said gently.

Doc Robbins cleared his throat. "We also got x-rays of her face. Healed fractures ...".

"Lower jaw, cheekbones, nose ... it _does_ point to domestic violence," Sara interjected quietly. Grissom sneaked a look at her, taking in her soft, tear-edged eyes.

"Anyhting else, Albert?" he asked.

The bearded coroner shook his head. "One other thing before she goes in to be washed. We found bruising."

Grissom saw Sara's jaw tighten. "Yes?" he asked, brows furrowing.

"Six o'clock," Robbins replied simply.

Grissom nodded, and took Sara's elbow, guiding her out of the cool, quiet atmosphere out into the stark contrast of the brightly-lit corridor. He took his glasses off and looked her. "I'm sorry for not giving your theory enough credit, and I'm sorry for making certain assumptions about you," he told her.

Sara looked up at him. "Doesn't matter, I don't mind. What else are you supposed to think, especially when I get so screwed up over these sort of cases. I don't leave you with much choice."

"What gave you he feeling it wasn't suicide?" he asked, guiding her further down the corridor to a couple of chairs. He sat down and motioned for her to do the same.

Sara looked at him. "What ever gives _you_ that feeling? You tell us to always follow the evidence, humans can't be trusted, all of that ...".

"Actually, Ecklie was the person to tell me that. When I told him I wouldn't fire you."

"He thinks you've got human emotions?" Sara bit back a smile. "Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it," she muttered under her breath.

"Did you take a SAR?" he asked, pretending to ignore her comment. Sara flashed him a disdainful look. "Okay, forget I asked that," he said. "Let me know as soon as you hear anything," he told her, placing his hands on his knees and pushing himself up.

"Where are you going?" Sara inquired.

"We've got to question the husband," Grissom answered.

"I'll come with you," Sara told him.

"Are you sure that's a good idea"

"Give me _some_ credit," she said.

"So, Mr Roberts, can you tell me where you were the night of your wife's death?" Grissom sat at the table in the interrogation room, in his typical pose, leaning forward on the left-hand side of his body and playing absently with his glasses.

The man on the other side of the table shrugged. "I dunno. I went a few places until I got the call from my house-keeper that she'd found my wife."

"That's funny," Sara replied, stepping over to the table and sliding a slim brown file across it. "Because we have testimony that you were having fun with a hooker in your car not far from the Strip. Or was it not that good?" she added disdainfully.

Grissom shot her a warning look. "What time did you meet up with your _other_ female friend?" he asked.

Again, the suspect shrugged. "About six. I was with her for an hour or two, and then I went to a bar near the Tangiers."

Grissom pouted slightly. "Have you got anyone to back that up?"

"I dunno, man. Don't really care."

"Your wife has just died, and you really don't seem that upset," Grissom said before Sara had a chance to open her mouth. "There you are with a hooker, while your wife could be getting her head blown off, and you don't particularly care." He shrugged slightly.

"Hell, she was always on at me."

"Yeah, we can see that," came Sara's retort. "But it looks like you gave as good as you got. Four priors for spousal abuse," she intoned, leaning against the wall. "We're also waiting for the results on the SAR kit so that we can definitely say it was _you_ who raped her."

Instead of denying it, the guy actually sat back and smiled. "So what? You gotta keep 'em, sweet, you know? Let 'em know who's in control. _You_ know what I'm talking about, don't you?" he said, turning to Grissom.

In a feat of animal agility and rage, Grissom practically leapt across the table, grabbing Mr Roberts by the throat and pinning him up against the wall. "Look here, you son of a bitch. I can either pretend not to hear you say that, or I can tell the judge about your little comment, and you can forget about being put in isolation ... I'll make sure everyone in the whole fucking prison knows you're a wife-beater." He shoved the guy hard into the wall. "Brass, get this bastard out of here," he growled, allowing the police officer and Brass to escort Roberts out.

Shaking hard, Grissom sat down at the table, propping up his head with one of his hands.

Trying not to show her surprise, Sara pulled up a chair next to him and put a hand on his shoulder. "You okay?" she whispered.

"Ugh," was all he could say. He felt strangely comforted by the feel of her warm fingers seeping through the cotton of his shirt.

"I thought I'd be the one to grab that guy," she admitted. "You sure you're okay?"

Grissom looked up at her, an air of desolation penetrating his eyes. "I'm sorry you had to see me like that," he told her. "You shouldn't have had to witness that. So I'm sorry."

"Hey, don't worry. It's quite comforting to realise you surrender to the same animal instincts we do. Don't worry, if it gets back to Ecklie, I'm more than willing to state your side. In case they need a witness."

"Sara, if I go down, I'm not taking you down with me. It's not right that I expect you to cover for me all the time. Besides, Ecklie knows you're my favourite, so to speak, so I won't be doing _you_ any favours."

"I thought Warrick was your favourite." She checked her watch. "Look, I'm gonna go and see what Trace and Ballistics have to offer. You should get a coffee, chill out in your office for fifteen minutes, then come and find me and we can get back on with the case. You need to talk, just page me." She gave his shoulder one last squeeze, and stood, pushing the chair away soundlessly, leaving the room.

Grissom stared after her in his usual, slightly clueless way, wondering why she would be willing to do that for him. What was in it for her?


	3. Chapter 3

_"Stars shining bright above you ...". _Grissom caught a snatch of the Louis Armstrong song being sung in a shy, female voice as he passed one of the evidence. He backtracked and listened again.

_"Night breezes seem to whisper 'I love you.' Birds singing in the sycamore tree, dream a little dream of me."_ He stuck his around the door, and saw Sara standing there, fingerprinting the Colt .45 and taking scrapings from it. "Hey," he said gently.

"Oh, hey," Sara replied, turning beetroot red. She always got embarrassed when people caught her singing. "How are you now?" she asked knowingly.

Grissom entered the room and came to stand beside her, his cologne invading her nostrils. In return, he could smell her gentle fragrance, a lovely ginger scent. "Okay, I guess," he answered sheepishly. It mortified him that he had let loose and fly so aggressively. _What must Sara think? _"I really am ...".

Sara absently put a hand on his arm. "Griss, don't worry. You're entitled to fly off the handle occassionally. All of us does at one time or another."

Grissom stared in confused wonder at the hand on his sleeve. "I indulge in cathartic exercises most days of the week," he replied.

Sara winked. "Oh, I'm sure that, like most guys, you masturbate. After all, you're a _particularly_ strong alpha male, so even if you were gay, which I'm sure you're not, you'd be bound to have a healthy sexual appetite." The encounter with the Common Cockchafer had spurred her on.

Grissom's eyes fluttered several times. "Excuse me? I think_ I'll_ be the judge of that. Anyway, I wasn't referring to sexual practices. I meant _rage_." For some reason, he felt more comfortable talking about sex than anger.

"I'm teasing, Griss, like the old days, can you remember back that far?" she sighed. Before he could retort, she pointed out something on the butt of the gun. "Pass me one of the cotton buds," she demanded, holding a hand out. She felt the cotton and plastic hit her palm gently, and she squirted phenol on the end. Rubbing it against the butt, she pulled it away and squirted another shot of phenol on it. The bud turned bright pink. "Bingo," she whispered. She grabbed a scalpel and scraped something that looked like flesh from the butt. "Could you do me a favour and run these to DNA?" she asked sweetly, batting her eyes at Grissom.

He risked a smile, and accepted the evidence. "Sure, good work," he said. "I'll get them to let you know as soon as they find out anything."

Sara frowned. "What about you?"

Grissom looked uncomfortable. "Um, page me, and I'll let you know where I am, and you can tell me," he answered.

"If he's already confessed to the murder, why do you need _me_ to go over the DNA?" This came from the useless DNA tech that was learning his trade. Sara couldn't remember his name, and she didn't particularly care.

Grissom shot the tech a dangerous look, and Sara put a hand on his shoulder. The cool touch of her fingers imprinted themselves on the fabric of his shirt so that even when she let go, he could still feel her there.

"Just people confess, it doesn't mean they're always telling the truth," Sara replied.

"You're starting to sound more like him every day," Warrick said, joining the three in the DNA lab, nodding at Grissom. Sara shrugged. "We didn't pick anything up from outside the house, all we know is entry wasn't forced. I checked out the records and visuals from the home and the grocery store where the house-keeper went, and her story checks out. On the other hand ...".

"Roberts is lying?" Grissom guessed wearily. "The video from the Tangiers either showed him to not be there, or leaves him with enough to kill. You manage to find the hooker he was with?"

Warrick and Sara both exchanged a glance, surprised that Grissom used the term 'hooker.' "Uh ... yes," he replied slowly. "She remembers what time he left her, it gave him an hour to kill his wife."

"Well, the bullet casing you found matches up with the ones inside the gun, and it was recently fired," Sara said. "We're just waiting on the DNA from the SAR and the gun, and we'll be able to charge him."

Warrick nodded. "That all you need me for? I said I'd take Tina out, I don't wanna be late," he said.

"Sure," Grissom answered. When Warrick exited, Grissom turned to Sara. "Will you do the interrogation? I don't think it's safe for me to be in there with that guy."

"Uh, okay," Sara replied. "I'll come find you."

"You weren't lying," Brass said, trying hard to keep the surprise from his voice. "DNA on the gun and the SAR matches you, and that nasty burn on your wrist is consistent with getting burned by a gun, so we're taking you in. Say goodbye to freedom."

Roberts took in Sara's disdainful look. "What? 'Cause I wasn't afraid to keep my wife under control?"

Sara bit the inside of her mouth. "Yeah. Because it's not just one life you fuck up when you beat your wife. What if you'd have had kids? What would you have done?"

"I don't really care. Kept them under control, I guess," he answered with a horrible grin. That did it. Sara jumped for the guy, but Brass carefully anticipated and grabbed her arms, pulling her under control. The police officer stepped forward, and cuffed Roberts, reading him his rights as he did so.

"Shit, you need to get your people under control," Roberts commented, not losing the grin.

"You know, it's a shame your wife didn't kill you first. 'Cause now you'll be knifed in prison, or the needle will get you. And believe me, there isn't anyone aside from Gacy that should suffer as much under lethal injection as you," she spat venomously. When Roberts had been escorted from the room, Sara flashed a look at Brass. "I'm gonna go find Grissom," she breathed.

"Hey." She had found him out the back of the building, sitting on a concrete step staring idly out on to the Nevada hills. "DNA was a match, he did it," Sara said casually. It gave her a chance to add an afterthought, one she half-hoped Grissom wouldn't hear. "I wouldn't have worried about you being there, but me? Jeez," she laughed in self-deprecation as she took a seat next to him. Their shoulders brushed.

"What happened?" Grissom inquired, sneaking her a glance out the corner of his eye.

"I kinda got mad at him. Not mad like I did when I confronted Scott Shelton, but mad enough." She sighed, her eyes flutterin shut.

Grissom patted her on the back. "Like you said, everyone has their moments."

Sara flinched internally, caught unawares by the gesture. "I guess. You ...".

"Hmm?" Grissom turned to look at her. "What?"

"I don't know. I can't think of anything to say."

"You ever find out what our little visitor from across the pond wanted?" he asked.

"Completely unrelated to the case. She'd mail-ordered something from England, and the beetle happened to be there. It must have died in the plane on the way over here. I don't see it surviving all that way," Sara told him, staring at her hands.

"That's the genius of it all, though," Grissom countered, a gleam returning to his eyes. "A cockroach can survive a week without its head. The weakest-looking things can withstand more than a human," he gushed.

"Yeah, and the toughest-looking things aren't actually that tough," was Sara's cryptic reply.

By some feat of the imagination, by some damned miracle, Grissom, for once, actually _got it._ "I was thinking," he started.

"That's a change," Sara said, smiling ever so slightly.

"You want to have dinner with me?"

Her face froze in shock. "What?"

"You heard," he said gently. "Yes or no?"

"Yes."


	4. Chapter 4

"What do you think of this place?" Grissom asked Sara, leaning over the small table and pouring her a glass of wine. They were sitting in an obscure restaurant, one Grissom obviously patronsied frequently, as several members of staff seemed fairly familiar with him. They had given them a table near the back of the establishment, in an area that seemed to be cordoned off especially for couples. The table was decorated with two scented candles and, rather morbidly, a black rose.

"What the hell does that mean?" Sara hissed once the waiters had seated them and given them menus.

Grissom smiled. "It's an indirect reference to our mutual friend, Edgar Allan," he answered. "It's supposed to mean that you're beautiful, with a hidden darkness."

"Oh." Sara was stunned. He had obviously been thinking this through. "So, do you have any personal recommendations?"

"Food or drink?" Grissom looked even more dashing tonight than he usually did, a smart shirt and tie accentuating his handsome demeanour. The shirt was grey, the tie black, setting off the grey hair, making the blue eyes glint.

Sara shrugged. She had opted to wear sleek black trousers that hugged at the hips, and a pink three-quarter length shirt. She looked stunning, but almost predatory. "I trust your judgement in drink," she replied, leafing through the menu, occassionally looking up at Grissom under seductive eyelids. "But your judgement in food?"

Grissom cocked an eyebrow. "_I_ may be partial to the rack of lamb, but I know you don't eat meat," he said, a touch defensively. "But you eat fish, right?" Sara nodded. "You're a pescetarian then," he added triumphantly. "I'd recommend either rainbow trout or salmon," he added, smiling.

"Gil, don't patronise me," Sara warned lightly.

Grissom simply replied with that infuriating smile of his, and put his hand up for the waiter.

"What can I get you?" the waiter asked, obviously bored with having to perform this routin several thousand times a day, or week or whatever.

"A bottle of Merlot, please," Grissom answered, eyes flicking to Sara to confirm this choice. "The rack of lamb for me," he added. "Sara?"

"Could I have the rainbow trout please?" she said, returning Grissom's glance. The waiter nodded, left, then returned several seconds later, carrying the bottle of wine. He made to open it, but Grissom stopped him. The waiter gave him the bottle, and teetered off around the assault course of tables.

Grissom smiled at Sara, grimacing as he tried to open the bottle. He took her glass and poured some wine into it, and as he passed it to her, their fingers touched. They both chanced a gentle smile, and touched their glasses togther when he'd filled his.

"So, how often do you come here?" Sara asked casually, setting her glass down on the table and leaning forward, propping her chin up with linked hands.

Grissom unconsciously mirrored her movements. "Once every other week." The answer rolled off his tongue with ease. "I feel like treating myself every so often," he explained.

The corner of Sara's mouth twitched upwards. "I treat myself by ordering a pizza, a huge tub of ice cream, and watching a movie," she told him, quite embarrassed.

"Well, if you ever feel like tagging along, let me know," he told her.

"Likewise," Sara answered, not sure of what was going on. This was all very confusing.

They made small talk whilst they waited for their meals to arrive, their dynamic having returned to when they used to go out for meals. But neither could deny the added charge here, static running through them, intense enough to keep their bodies running off it for a week.

In the middle of the meal, Grissom put his cutlery down, leaned across the table, and picked up her hand. "I hope you don't think I'm being presumptuous," he started.

"Perish the thought," Sara replied, smiling, the light from the candles softening her smooth eyes.

Grissom's eyebrow arched ever so slightly. "I, uh, I booked a room," he said, not looking at her.

"Oh?" Her heart lurched. In a good way. She hoped.

"Yeah. At the Tangiers. I thought maybe ...". He trailed off, looking highly uncomfortable.

"Maybe we could go back there after here?" Sara considered it. "What exactly _is_ this?"

Grissom shrugged. "I might be trying to deny this to myself, but if I'm honest, I think I'm trying to seduce you." He closed his eyes and flushed bright red.

"Are you trying to seduce me, Doctor Grissom?" she asked, trying her best to sound like Dustin Hoffman.

He bit back a smile. "It's about time, isn't it?" he inquired.

"Oh, definitely. And since you're making such a commendable effort, I can't really say no."

"Wait to see the hotel room before you make any comments," he said obliquely.

_That_ piqued Sara's interest. "Really?" she asked. "What have you done?"

Grissom smiled teasingly. "Oh, no, you'll have to wait and see."

They remained quiet for the rest of the meal, Sara trying to calm her stomach enough to finish eating.

Grissom offered her his arm as they walked through the car park to the Tangiers. He remained silent, intoxicated with the effect he seemed to be having on Sara - she was gripping his arm a shade more tightly than she might normally do, and she felt tense. "Honey, calm down," he whispered in her ear, his breath warming her hair.

"Sorry, but I'm just a bit nervous," she replied, trying to soothe the ball of tension in her stomach.

They had checked in, and were walking along the hotel corridor towards the room, hands linked. They came up to the door, and Grissom stood in front of the door, between Sara and the room. "First of all, I wanna check that you're okay with me trying to seduce you," he said. Sara nodded. "Secondly, close your eyes." Without question, Sara's eyes fluttered shut. Grissom swiped the card through the lock and pushed the door open, reaching for Sara's hand. She jumped slightly, not expecting the touch, but allowed him to guide her into the room. "You can open your eyes now," he said.

The room was dimly lit. At first, it seemed that there was nothing too special about it - bathroom, television, table, desk, big four-poster, mini-fridge. The duvet wasn't covered in petals or anything, but Sara eyed a tray covered with one of those silver dome things, and an ice bucket. "What is it?" she asked quietly.

Grissom cleared his throat. "Champagne and strawberries," he answered gently, looking at the floor.

"My God, Gil, that's so romantic," she whispered, overcome with emotion.

"Take a seat," he said, motioning to the edge of the bed. He brought over the bottle of champagne, the glasses and a bowl of strawberries. "Would you mind pouring the champagne?" he asked.

Sara obliged, casting a gaze at him whilst he fiddled with a small stereo. A couple of seconds later, she recognised the song coming through the room, and began to sing along with it.

"_Stars shining bright above you/ Night breezes seem to whisper I love/ Birds singing in the sycamore tree/ Dream a little dream of me._"

Grissom smiled, taking a seat next to her. "You're so beautiful when you sing," he said, accepting a glass from her and picking a strawberry. Impulsively, he leaned forward and ran it over her lips. Sara grinned, and bit into it.

"Hey, that was mine!" he exclaimed indignantly.

Sara sipped her champagne, the bubbles temporarily fizzing through her brain, and she selected a strawberry, feeding it to him. "See? I can share," she murmured, watching his lips encircle the fruit.

He chewed and swallowed. "I can't," he answered ruthlessly. He gave her a smouldering look, and took her glass from her, placing them and the strawberries on the table.

"You want to...". Sara trailed off, and Grissom nodded silently. "Okay, then."


	5. Chapter 5

The rain fell softly against the windows; the hotel room, with its lights off, was party to its own mini-storm. Aside from the _pitter-patter­ _of rain on the glass, there was the rustle of bedsheets, the gentle, wet _smack_ of kisses, an occassional groan of pleasure, the even more occassional whisper.

"Mmm, Griss," came Sara's words as she held on to his back as his lips trailed down her neck. She gasped in delight as he moved further down her body, his beard touching her ridiculously soft skin.

"God, you taste delicious," he growled.

Sara tried to sit up, but collapsed weakly back on to the bed, overcome with arousal. "Don't tease me," she pleaded. "I want you so much, I don't think I can last much longer."

He lifted his head up to meet her eyes, his gaze devilish and focused. "Sweetheart, have patience," he chided. "We've waited six years ...".

"Longer," Sara corrected, a pained look in her as he traced his fingers closer to the waistband of her panties.

"We've waited for a long time for this," he resumed, grinning slightly, "so a couple more minutes won't kill you. Besides, I'm just getting you accustomed to my touch."

She actaully cried out loud when she felt his hand. "I'm sorry Gil, but the anticipation is killing. Just get those damn trousers off before I jump you," she warned.

He straightened up, hands fumbling at his zipper, managing to pull his trousers off. Sara stifled a giggle. "What?" he asked indignantly, stretching his body out on top of hers.

"Mmm," she answered in between kisses. "I never had you down as a boxer short guy." She wriggled as a hand slipped down her back.

"What? You figured me for commando?" The glance he gave her was entirely serious, and she raised an eyebrow. "Only very occassionally. Very rarely around you," he told her. "I don't trust my self-control," he added, full of self-loathing. He dipped his head, nipping and suckling at her neck so that he didn't have to look at her face.

She closed her eyes in ecstacy, letting her body relax back into the bed. "How the hell could you not have a woman?" she asked eventually. He stopped, and Sara rubbed his back. "Carry on," she instructed.

But he came up to her level, one arm under her neck and shoulders, propping her up, the other arm holding her back. "That's a fair question," he asked, eyes swimming with lust and love and tenderness. "Why ask? Are you sure you want to hear the answer? For all you know, I might have killed all my previous lovers," he murmured.

"Maybe," was Sara's reply as she ran one hand up and down his spine, letting it occassionally skim underneath the elastic band of his boxers. "Or maybe they got sick of your teasing," she retorted. "Seriously, though."

"Seriously? I didn't really get much in return in bed, and they only liked me in the sack, they couldn't stand me eslewhere," he said, somewhat melancholy.

God, him when he was sad was such a turn on. She thought his eyes would float. "Hey," she consoled, a hand touching his face, stroking him through the beard. "I can see why a woman might take advantage - from what I'm experiencing now, you're a generous lover. Would you like something in return?" she asked earnestly.

A look of horror crossed his face. "I wouldn't dare," he exclaimed.

"Shh," Sara silenced, a finger on his lips. "You wouldn't have to. It's always been my prerogative that if I got into a relationship with you, I'd do my utmost to please you in every way possible."

"You're not just some toy, or a plaything. This has to be equal," he insisted.

"That's what I'm saying, babe," she whispered in his ear, her tongue poking out slightly and prodding it. She felt him shiver. "At the moment, it's not very equal. Your not far off making me have the most intense ... experience of my life, and naturally, I wanna give something back."

Grissom considered it. "Not now," he told her definitively. "Another time, I'll take you up on your offer, but I think that as it's my fault we've been delayed in getting to this stage, it's only fair that tonight it's about you." He raised his eyebrows in question, searching for agreement.

Sara nodded, and he smiled, closing in on her mouth.

"You ready?" he asked, bracing his arms on either side of her shoulders.

Sara mustered a smile. "I'm surprised I lasted this long," she told him.

He returned the smile. "You should give yourself more credit," he said, entering her slowly and tenderly. Sara gasped, then emitted a deep, drawn-out groan that had been harboured somewhere in her psyche for the best part of two decades. Her long legs closed around his, and she gave in to his pace and rhythm. "Don't close your eyes," he remarked.

Sara cocked an eyebrow, her face losing control of itself in the midst of this wonderful happening. "Why. Not?" she uttered with great difficulty.

"I wanna see how beautiful you look when I make you come," he answered, looking bashful and ever so slightly shamefaced.

Her face flushed scarlet at his words, never expecting him to come out with something as explicit as that. "Oh, honey, that's the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me," she murmured, loving him more with each passing second. Then, out of the blue, he hit a spot within her. "Oh, God, I think I'm ...".

Grissom nodded, his face flushed and sweat collecting at his hairline. "I can feel it," he confirmed. He strained as Sara arched her back, pushing her body harder against him. The air was filled with her lust-filled moans, and Grissom's hands held her hips in place. She had hold of his spine in a vice-like grip, but he pulled away slightly so he could watch her face. Their eyes locked, brown and blue, male and female, suddenly one and the same. His eyes were so gentle and tender and loving and a thousand other things, and hers were just plain wild as she edged closer and closer to the brink. Finally it happened, and he held her in place as she called out in ecstacy, supporting her as she went limp. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and rose up slightly, manoeuvering himself so that they were no longer one. "You okay?" he asked, brushing errant starnds of damp hair from her face.

She gasped for air and closed her eyes, attempting unsuccessfully to compose herself. She smiled. "My God, that was ... you were ...".

"Is it something I can gauge by the volume of your voice?" he teased.

She slapped his back lightly. "Ew, you're all sticky and wet," she complained.

"It's not confined to me, or my back," he replied, eyes sparkling. "Are you always this incoherent after sex?"

"That wasn't sex," Sara corrected. "That was the most intense physical experience I've ever had. That was a spiritual epiphany."

"I get the picture. We made love, at the very least. So it was okay?"

Sara smiled. "It was better than that. What about you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Why do I go all soppy around you?" he asked. "I have to say, I don't think anyone I've ever been with has ever made me feel like _that_," he told her. Catching the look in her eyes, he clarified. "It was beautiful," he told her honestly. He touched her cheek. "But I'm absolutely shattered now," he added. He rolled off her on to his side and pulled her into his arms.

"I promise it will be even better next time," she said, muffled against his chest. He felt the warmth on his left pec, right at the point where his heart leaned from centre to left.

"I can't wait, then." He closed his eyes, his arms tightening protectively around her. "Just let me sleep for a few hours, otherwise I'll be cranky, and that won't be a nice way to spend time together."

"Griss?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. And thank _you_."

"Don't mention it."

"Will you turn off the music?" Neither of them, in the throes of passion, had noticed that Mama Cass was still singing.

"You left it on repeat?"

Grissom shrugged. "It's quite a sexy song. Perfect for seducing," he added, smiling sleepily.

Sara grunted and rolled out of his warm hands, perfectly aware that she was stark naked.

"Don't be shy," Grissom said.

"Shut up," Sara replied, humour inflected in her voice. But she _was_ shy. Having Grissom lying in bed after having made love to him ... the experience wasn't getting any more life-like - she felt as though she were stuck in something out of _Brave New World - _the sensation was erotic yet scary at the same time. She silenced Mama Cass, and coyly crept back to the bed, knowing that Grissom had been preoccuppied with her body all the while.

"God, you're so beautiful," he told her, wrapping hr in his arms.

"You're not too bad yourself," she replied. "_Say nighty night and kiss me. Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me_."

"I'll be dreaming of you tonight," came his drowsy, happy reply.


	6. Chapter 6

Skin stirred against skin, sheets crinkled, a gentle sigh here and there. Grissom sat up and gazed in awe and wonder at the beautiful body lying next to him. It was perfect, as though craved into the most precious gem by God's most skilled sculpture. _Christ, I know I like poetry, but this is just getting _too_ soppy._ He ran his hand over her body lightly, then gently shook her shoulder.

Sara blinked, feeling Grissom's warm fingers on her bare flesh. "So we did really ... I thought it was just a dream," she yawned sleepily.

He smiled down at her. "I'm glad it wasn't," he murmured, blue eyes warming the very depths of her soul.

"Griss?"

"Yeah?" There was something unnerving about her tone of voice.

"Do you think we moved too quickly? Y'know, from me flirting over the whole Cockchafer thing, then getting pissed at you, then you going crazy, then me going crazy, then you asking me to dinner, then us coming here last night and having the most amazing sex?" She stared at her hands, trying to ignore the fact that both of them were naked, and Grissom appeared to be susceptible to the same morning biological function as most men she'd been with.

"I'm not sure I quite understand what you're getting at," he told her, frowning. "Could you rephrase at all?"

She took a breath. "We've gone through so many extremes so quickly - I just thought that maybe going straight from dinner to a hotel room might have been a rather fast progression to make."

Grissom's face darkened, his eyes turning from warm to emanating ice-cold gamma rays within seconds. "You could have said no. I asked you if were happy with what would take place, and you confirmed that you were. You said it was romantic, and I can't help but notice that you found it very hard to stop screaming my name in my ear. So what point are you trying to make?"

Sara reached out, running a hand through his hair. "I don't mean that I didn't enjoy it. You're right - I'd have a hard time convincing anyone of that after the noise I made. What I mean is, don't you think it's a bit sudden? We've gone from hardly talking in months to making love in a hotel room in the space of three days. That's hard for me to get my head around."

Grissom sighed, and rolled on to his front, resting his arm across her stomach. "Sara, you've waited long enough for me. I got you a plant, four years later I wined and dined you, then we came back here. I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me, that's all. I thought that at the very least, you deserved _that_. If I'd have known you weren't ready, I would have suggested we discuss things for first. But what you told me three years ago was haunting. I had to do something to show you I loved you before it was too late. So what if we had talked? That might not have come to anything, or you might have thought I was making excuses, and you wouldn't have heard me out. For all I know, you could have just upped and left. And that would kill me. So I needed to let you know that I want you, no matter how I may have acted, or what I may have said in the past." He studied her face, the hand on her stomach slipping up her body slowly to caress her cheek and wipe away a stray tear or two.

"Jeez Gil, you keep on surprising me," she whispered, catching his hand. "God, no wonder I stayed around," she said. "I'd have missed you being all romantic."

"Third time you've said that," he warned. "You're doing serious damage to my reputation," he joked. Sara returned his smile. "You hungry?" he asked.

"A bit, yeah."

He checked the clock on the nighstand. "Room service opens in about an hour, you think you can last that long?"

"We've got those strawberries we didn't finish last night," she remembered. "Your turn to get out of bed," she added. With a groan, Grissom swung his feet out of bed. "My God, your ass is in good shape," she whistled.

"Shame about the rest of me," he grumbled, carrying over the red fruit.

"Oh, I dunno," Sara contradicted. "For your age, you're pretty buff."

"Thanks."

"You ever notice how strawberries look like nipples?" she asked suddenly.

Grissom promptly choked on his, then shot her a glance. "You ever notice how much of a cock tease you can be?"

Sara flashed him a grin. "I believe, after our run in with that bug the other day, it should be common cock _chafer_."

"Sara Sidle, you have to be the most contrary person I _know_," he said, raising his eyes to nothing in particular. "But after last night, I think you may have a point. Except, without the common part. Maybe _amphimallon solstitiale._" He shot her a sideways look, and she promptly creased up laughing.

"Okay, then, tell me about the summer chafer." She leaned against his shoulder, bare skin on skin sharing warmth.

"Let's see - she's about five nine, has medium-length brown hair, the most beautiful eyes I've ever had the grace to gaze upon, and a smile to go with it. She's talented, works so damn hard, and when you do _this_ ...". He paused, and ran his hands down her chest, waist and hips, stroking across her legs, "she does some wonderful things."

She shivered at his touch, but managed to compose herself enough to lightly slap his hand. "That's funny, 'cause all the summer chafers I've read about live in Britain, and are between fourteen and eighteen millimetres long."

He smiled at her tenderly, and bit into a strawberry. "Who knew bugs could be this sexy?"

"I'm supposed to say that. And to answer my own question, no-one knew."

"How come you quoted the english language name to me then, with a smile on your face?"

Sara shrugged. "Don't know. I felt a bit daring." She noticed a drop of juice and strawberry flesh on his upper lip. Slowly, she opened her lips, and made to kiss him, her tongue slipping out and clearing up the fruit.

"Taste nice?" he inquired, moving towards her, kissing her gently.

"Yeah." Whenever he did that, her knees felt like they were going to give way under her. "I'm glad we're here, you know," she said in a quiet voice.

"Me too." He had an urge that was pretty hard to control. He just wanted to press her back into the bed and make her feel like it was last night all over again. Feel like although there were two of them, they melt together so seamlessly that they were actually one. He recalled how sensually her body fit against his, how she felt on his legs, on his chest, how she tasted under his tongue. He felt like a cannibal.

Sara read his silence. "I thought you had good self-control," she told him. But she knew that wasn't it. Shit, she enjoyed it with him far more than she thought she ever would. Having him between her thighs, holding on tight to him, clinging on for dear life as he did things to her she didn't could be done. Making her feel so damn special.

He smiled sadly. "Not around you. Not any more, at least," he added. "This was why I was reuctant at first. I didn't wanna be at work, and see you there, and either drag you to my office and screw you ruthlessly on my desk, or get a hard-on and get ratty because I couldn't do anything about it."

Sara swallowed. "You've uh, you've fantasised about us?"

"Sure. Oh, God, I've freaked you out," he cringed, screwing up his eyes.

"No way! I'm glad I'm not alone. But we'll leave that for the time being. Maybe we should put the TV on and wait for room service to open." She reached for the remote control on the bedside table, and leaned back into Grissom's arms. "Gil?"

"Yeah?" He nuzzled her hair and sighed happily.

"Thank you for all of this. I really appreciate it, and I'm having the nicest time I've had for quite a while.

"No problem, honey."


	7. Chapter 7

"So, what did you do last night?" Catherine asked. She and Sara were sitting in the break room, Catherine with a cup of coffee, Sara with a soda.

Sara wisely kept her face shielded by her book. "Sat in, read for a while, had a pizza," she replied, praying to God her voice remained level.

Catherine rolled her eyes. "You. Need. A. Life. Or a boyfriend." She looked up at the door as Grissom entered the room. "Hey, Gil, you know what she did last night?"

Grissom's face almost froze. _But Sara wouldn't tell Catherine. Would she?_ "What?" he asked, attempting to disguise his anguish.

"Sat in and read. Tell her she needs to get laid, at the very least."

Sara stifled a laugh and a smirk, and Grissom frowned. "The lives of your co-workers are not actually your concern, Cath," he reprimanded sternly. "For that alone, you get the dumpster dive," he added, handing her an assignment slip.

Catherine pulled a face. "By the sound of it, _you_ need to get laid too. Christ, do us all a favour, and let out that _tension_. Hey, maybe you and Sara should ...". She was silenced by an icy look.

"One more word out of you, and you get all the decomps that come through this door," he growled, his voice low and threatening. He waited for Catherine to scurry from the room, and then took a seat next to Sara. "So, what did you _really_ do last night?"

Sara closed her book, smiling. "Let's see. This totally hot guy from work took me out to dinner, then we went back to his hotel room, where all manner of erotic and unspeakable things occurred."

"Hmm. Should I be jealous? Is this serious?" He enjoyed playing games like this with Sara.

"Oh, I hope it's _very_ serious. In fact, I was thinking of asking this guy over to _my_ place when we've finished work. I had an idea for a meal, I wanted to give him something a bit special. A nice few hours together before we go back to work and resume our role as consummate professionals, side by side, resisting the urge to go behind the bike sheds." She flashed him a look. "What do you say?"

"I say, I like to bit about consummate. I'll come over to yours after work. I should go home and change, bring some fresh clothes with me." He reached over and squeezed her knee. "See you then?"

"Can't wait."

Sara had already figured out what she would cook for Grissom. At college, she had mastered a starter, an avocado spread, rather like guacamole, but with a variation. She would mash the avocado into a paste, add a little salt, pepper, sunflower oil, vinegar and basil. It all got stirred up together, then was spread on top of thick bread and toasted under the grill. For the main, she had made a simple tomato sauce to go with pasta; she hadn't decided on dessert yet - there were an assortment of ice-creams and cookies.

She heard someone tap lightly against the door, and she wiped her hands on the dishcloth. She nearly melted when she opened the door. There stood Grissom, eyes shining, wearing a pair of tight dark blue jeans, a black t-shirt and a leather jacket, holding a bouquet of roses for her.

"Hey." He smiled brightly, and stepped forward to kiss her cheek. "How are you?"

Sara bit her lip, trying to hold back tears. "God, you're so thoughtful," she sighed, looking at the ceiling and smiling. "Come in," she said, moving away from the door to let him in. She accepted the roses and went to put them in water. When she returned to the living room area, Grissom had already taken his jacket off and hung it up. He held his arms out. "Don't I get a proper welcome?" She approached him, kissing him gently on the corner of his mouth, waiting for it to open up completely. His lips parted, kissing hers, capturing her bottom lip, running his teeth along it gently, then suckling. His hands rested above the curve in her spine, holding him against her, as her hands cradled his head. Her tongue slid along his top lip, then pressed its way in, meeting with his. When they pulled away, he had to hold her steady for a second.

"How are you?" he repeated.

"Much better," she breathed. She rested her against his warm chest. "Are you okay?"

"Fine, thank you. Glad to dish out some revenge on Catherine," he added.

"Oh?" Sara asked, propelling him towards a seat. "What happened?"

"Got grossed out too much by the dumpster. She was wearing a rather expensive pair of trousers."

Sara laughed. "You're evil. Can I get you a drink?"

"I'm not evil, I'm just, and I'm fine for the moment, thanks." He thought for a moment. "Can I ask you a personal question?"

Sara considered it. "Depends. How personal?"

"I just wanted to know what you see in me," he said truthfully.

"Quid pro quo. I tell you, you gotta tell me." She took up position next to him, a hand on his knee. "I've always been attracted to you, ever since Harvard."

"I was much younger then," he interrupted.

"Shut up and let me finish. God, you were sexy. You still are, especially when you go into teaching mode." She suppressed a shudder. "And you're very different to most guys I know - thoughtful, serious but with that undercurrent of humour, considerate, kind, naive - you have what I look for in a guy. After my family life, it used to be about seeking protection in a man, but you offer more of that than anyone else I've ever met."

He sat for a moment, trying to absorb what she'd said. "I've never ... I've never looked at it like that. I always look at the whole age thing - I was concerned that your attraction to me was based on a subscription to seeking paternal approval."

"Fair enough. So. What about you? What have I got that Lady Heather lacks? That Terri Miller can't provide?"

Grissom winced. "No talk of other women when I'm with you. They don't belong here." Sara nodded. "You're beautiful. You're young. You have this energy that I can't help but want to tap into. You won't stop working until you have what you need. You're focused, you're so intelligent, you have so much empathy, you're not afraid of _anything_, and you have a sensuality about you that I can't describe. Most importantly, you understand me and my work - you don't make judgements based on me about my line of work, because you do exactly the same thing." He shrugged, finding that the more he was with her, the more he found it hard to find the right thing to say. She was a witch, using some kind of physical magic to befuddle him.

She smiled. "You must be the only person who doesn't find me intense, or serious. That always used to turn men off."

"Oh, no, I would say that you _are_ intense, and you are serious. And they're good qualities to have. That way, you tend to be more conscientious, in all aspects of your life," he added with a wink and a smirk. "I find that intensity very ... sexy. I gotta admit, it's a turn-on for me. To see that look you get in your eye when you're on to something. And I notice it a lot when we're alone together too. But not only that, you know when to chill out and relax. You have a sense of humour, and you're not afraid to use it. It just happens to be a bit more intelligent and quirky than a lot of people are used to." He covered the hand that was on his knee.

Sara blinked back more tears. "I'm gonna go and check on the food, okay?"

Grissom nodded, understanding that he had probably astounded her with what he had said. But he meant it. He meant every single damn word of it. "You need a hand? Or you want me to leave you for a bit?"

Sara silently praised God, so happy that he understood that sometimes she would need down time, or alone time. "I should be okay," she said. "I'll give you a shout if I need help. It shouldn't be too long, anyway," she said.

In all their years of knowing each other, he hadn't even known she cook. He had always gotten the impression that she ordered take-out, or snacked on junk. Then again, she had virtually no fat on her, so she couldn't have been all that unhealthy.

He was especially impressed with her avocado recipe. "You just made it up?"

Sara nodded. "The first time I made it, I'd gone to eat half of the avocado, but it wasn't ripe enough, ad I didn't want to waste it, so I figured I might as well try and make something with it."

He smiled. "You're a true genius. And somehow, it doesn't strike me as a surprise you're serving something like this tonight."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Didn't you know that avocado is an aphrodisiac?"

"Sure I did. But I certainly don't need an aphrodisiac when I'm with you. You're enough of an aphrodisiac as it is. I'd probably die of sheer ecstacy eating this and looking at you at the same time."

He kept on smiling. "Really? I'm still finding it hard to get over the fact that you're attracted to me."

She shook her head in exasperation. "You're really annoying sometimes, you know that?" He nodded. "Why can't you just accpet the fact that I think you're damn hot? You've lost most of the weight you put on, even though you still looked sexy then, and with that beard, your eyes just smoulder at me. It makes you look all existentialistic and gorgeous. And I'm having a hard time keeping my hands off you."

"Glad I'm not the only one," he replied.


	8. Chapter 8

The sparks flew after dinner. They cleared the table of the dishes, washing and drying the plates, all the while managing not to touch each other, or even look at each other in a manner less than chaste. But as soon as they'd finished being domesticated, they shared a look, and the smouldering heat in their eyes erupted into a full-blown fire. Grissom approached Sara slowly and purposefully, cupping one hand to her face and bringing her lips to meet his. The other arm snaked around her back, crushing her body against his.

Sara knew Grissom was strong, and woe betide anybody who got on the wrong side of him when he was pissed, but she wasn't expecting him to be so ...rough. The previous night, she had found it hard to believe that he could be so tender and gentle and soft, but the kiss now was making her remember his power. She pressed one hand to the back of his head, one to his ass, holding him securely. She groaned into his mouth, her eyelids fluttering shut.

Grissom moved his lips down her neck, stopping at her shirt. He began to unbutton it, his mouth moving further down her body as he freed her of her clothes. Sara's hands slid up under his top, and she pulled the black t-shirt over his head, feeling the warm sensation of his torso against her semi-naked chest. Then, without warning, he grabbed both her arms and drove her backwards, pinning her up against the wall, all the while still kissing her.

Sara could see warning signs, but she didn't start to feel worried just yet. He hadn't hurt her so far, and she wasn't going to prematurely end the evening because he was getting a little frisky. Eyes still closed, she moaned a bit more when she felt his beard scraping against her stomach. His hands moved her arms to her sides, then held her harder against the wall by pressing his hands to her hips. She felt his tongue, and oh, how marvellous it left her feeling. He was discovering more of her, this circumnavigation of her body being more than she could take.

The sensation of Sara's musk in his mouth was powerful, powerful enough for Grissom to get lost forever in it. He was dimly aware of her cries, her thighs tightening, her thrusts. He pulled away before she could climax, causing a yell of frustration, and worked his way up her body, back to her face. Then he pulled her away from the wall, practically steering her to the bedroom.

Sara could see his arousal through his jeans, and marvelled, happy, but not surprised. Even though they had made love last night, his endowment hadn't really been foremost for her, and seeing him now, primal and aggressive, with his dick straining against the denim, it confirmed all the thoughts she had ever harboured, and sometimes even been exposed to at work, if she brushed particularly close by him. She revelled in the sheer will of his grasp, almost allowing herself to be slung on to the bed. She sat up, and tugged at his belt, removing it, and his jeans as quickly as she could manage with her shaking fingers. She kissed him once again, their tongues reacquainting, as she slid off his boxers and pulled him into her. He let out a slight gasp of suprise, and she let out a long, drawn, parched, husky cry of pleasure.

That was when it got too much. The neanderthal inside him pushed its way to the surface as he pushed himself into her, getting a harsh scream in return. Mistaking it as approval, he did it again, thrusting in and out very, very hard. She stopped moving against him, and called his name.

"No, Griss, stop," she pleaded, her arms trying to still his rolling hips. "Griss, damnit, stop," she called more vociferously.

He did as she asked, regarding her face for a second. There was no mistaking the look in her eyes - it was fear, and he knew then that he had scared the _shit_ out of her. He rapidly withdrew, no longer aroused, and cupped her face with his hands, pressing kisses all over it. "I'm sorry, honey. I didn't mean to scare you," he whispered softly.

She lay there in his grasp, panic subsiding, numbness setting in. " 's'okay," she choked, wishing she didn't feel so vulnerable.

"Did I ... did I remind you of someone?" came his trembling voice. He had scared himself more than he had scared her - to see her afraid of him hurt so much. "Did I hurt you?" He pulled away, his thumbs gently coaxing her cheeks. His eyes were damp.

"You just ... it was your eyes. And the way you just ... you seemed far away, like you'd given in to your primitive side. I've never seen you like that before, and then when you entered me, it was so rough, I wasn't expecting it."

"Did I hurt you?" he repeated. He'd never forgive himself if he had. "Please tell me I didn't hurt you," he beggd desperatley.

She smiled in spite of herself. "You didn't _hurt_ me, per se. I was a little tight, so I wasn't ready for the fact that you'd be rough like that. But you didn't hurt me like it hurts when you're violated or aything like that." She paused, hoping to God she hadn't said what she thought she'd just said.

Grissom frowned. "Were you raped?" He wasn't prepared for how quickly the question slipped across his tongue.

Sara nodded slowly. "But I don't wanna talk about it now." She made to kiss him, but he shook his head. "What?"

"Not now. Not now that I know. That would be insensitive." He blinked slowly several times, looking at the darling woman laying before him, just as she had layed her heart out before him.

"If you think me making love to you is in the same vein as that, it's not. That was purely about having power over a woman. You and I - we're about love. I hope. Please," she pleaded, eyes petitioning him. "I need to feel you in me. I need you tonight and I want you."

Grissom was torn. Torn between carrying on to appease his libido, torn between giving her what she so desperately wanted, and torn between getting carried away and hurting her.

"If you get rough, that doesn't bother me. But you were just in your own little world back then. Griss, you have needs, too. I want to help you fulfill them. I know you'd never hurt me, and once in a while I'm perfectly happy to bend to your whims. So please. Take me." Her hands slipped down his chest, his stomach, which flinched at her touch, down between his legs.

"Oh, fuck," he whispered in ecstacy. His eyes closed, then opened, questioning. Sara nodded, and he gently took her in his arms, their lips providing solace from all the pain that was present in the room. If he could help her in anyway, he would give her something precious to remember, something that could hopefully erase her dreadful memories. So he made it all about _her_ that night. His tongue tripped over her body, from mouth to neck to breasts to between her thighs. And when he kissed her mouth, his hand and fingers would press into her gently, earning him a smile and a shift of her hips and a groan. He entered her roughly, though, like before, his eyes on her face to monitor her expression. She nodded imperceptably, her eyes closing in bliss, her rhythm matching his. She climaxed first, his name repeated upon her lips, then him, and when he pulled out, he noticed the tears trailing down her cheeks. He wrapped her up in his arms, stroking her hair and comforting her gently, 'shushing' her, teling her he loved her and that she was safe.

Sara had thought last night was remarkable, but was swiftly having to re-evaluate her judgement. If that was remarkable, this was indescribable. This must have come close to the most natural high a person could get. She almost felt realigned, her equilibrium restored. Hot tears burning her face, she allowed him to hold her, shaking with a mixture of grief and elation, her head pressed into his chest. "God, Gil, I love you so much," she sobbed.

"Shh, honey, I know. And I love you too. Just try and relax, okay? I'm here, nothing can hurt you," he told her, rocking her gently. Being able to care for her, to pleasure her - it was empowering, validating. Now, aside from bugs and work, he finally had a purpose to his life.


	9. Chapter 9

HOLY MOTHER OF PEARL - I AM FEELING SO ANGSTY RIGHT NOW, IT SEEMS TO BE THE ONLY THING THAT FUELS ME TO WRITE AT THE MOMENT. I PROMISE IT WILL GET HAPPIER, BUT NOT BEFORE IT GETS ANGSTIER. THANKS FOR STAYING WITH ME THUS FAR. I SWEAR I WILL WRITE HAPPY FICS FOR A WHILE WHEN THIS FIC IS FINISHED.

Grissom took several minutes to admire Sara when he woke the next morning. She was hunched in the foetal position, one leg tucked into her body, one splayed out at an angle. He surveyed her in all her naked beauty. Her hair spread out like a halo on the pillow, her face so peaceful in slumber. One hand has draped across her flat stomach, nestled under those small, pert breasts, the other supporting her face. Her back was turned towards the door, where Grissom stood, and so he could she the gentle slope of her spine, the sweet curve of her buttocks. He approached the bed, dropping to his knees and gently placing his lips to the tattoo on her leg. He stood and squeezed her calf, then sloped off to her kitchen to make coffee.

"Griss, what are you doing?" The coffee was almost ready, and Grissom was leaning against the counter, wearing only his boxer shorts.

"Back to bed, honey, I'll bring your drink through in a minute." His expression was concerned despite the tender smile on his face. "And, uh, put some clothes on honey, you'll catch your death."

She was tucked up safely in bed when he brought their drinks in. He set them down on the nightstand, and frowned when he pulled the duvet back. "I thought I told you to put something on."

"I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." She smiled and reached out for him. "Mmm," she murmured as Grissom scooted closer her, slipping his arms around her waist,

"I'm sorry about last night," he whispered, holding her close to him, savouring her warmth.

"Griss, it's okay. You weren't to know. And you certainly made up for it," she added, sensing his cheeks flushing. "Honey, I'm sorry for not telling you, but I ...". She was stopped in her tracks by one of his strong fingers.

"You don't have to explain to me, sweetheart. I ... you don't ... I love you, okay?" he floundered. "I only wish I could find the fucker. I'd do him so much damage," he growled.

"Honey, you're getting those eyes again. Just calm down, please." Sara rubbed his back.

He bit his lip. "You want your coffee?" he asked, his voice struggling to remain level. She nodded, and he sat up, passing her a cup. He flashed her a look out the corner of his eye, feeling concerned and angry and frustrated and loving all at once. "Sara, I ...".

Sara closed her eyes. "Griss, just shut up, okay? Look, I don't need you to go and make me feel any worse about this than I already do. I don't want to talk about it, I'd quite like to forget that it ever happened."

Grissom pursed his lips. "I'm not trying to make you feel worse honey. You know I wouldn't do that. And I don't want to emotionally blackmail you. I won't lie and say I'm _happy_, but I can't force you to do or say anything you don't want to do. And I'm not sure whether us being in a relationship would be a good idea if you weren't willing to face up to whatever happened. Sara, I love you dearly. I've never felt this way about _anyone_. But I don't want you to see your rapist every time you look into my eyes when we make love. I can't do that, and it's not fair of me to ask you to do the same."

Sara swallowed. "Are you saying that we should stop seeing each other?"

"I ... I don't know," he admitted. "I wanna help you. And I don't want to see you in pain. It would be unfair of me to give you an ultimatum. That's not a choice for me."

"You can't leave me," Sara begged.

"I don't want to. But if I'm a threatening presence to you, maybe that would have to happen."

"It was at college."

"What?" He cottoned on. "No, Sara, don't do this because you don't want us to split up. Do this when you feel ready."

"I'm not losing you, damnit. He was my first boyfriend. I was inexperienced and naive after experiencing all that stuff at home. So I thought this guy, this jock, would be perfect for me. Someone who could protect me from things that could hurt me. I was so naive I didn't even think that he was doing me because he might be able to get better grades or admiration from his friends or what - I seriously thought he cared about me. Then one night, we'd had a bit to drink, and we went back to my college dorm. He was always quite forceful, but it was all about _him_, y'know? He was a jock, for fuck's sake." She gave a snort of self-derision. "That night, I wasn't particularly in the mood. He didn't care. He tied my hands behind my back, threw me on the bed and ...". She shrugged.

"Shit," Gil muttered. "Did you press charges?"

"He was one of the most popular guys. He got to Harvard on a football scholarship. I would have been the most unpopular person on campus."

Grissom wouldn't let her get any further. With a painful sigh, he pulled her into his arms, as much for his benefit as hers. "I'm here," came the mantra from before. "And I swear, I ever find out who that guy is, I'll fucking kill him."

Sara was still getting used to Gil using such language. It was certainly a change from the man who thought things through, considered all options before taking action, rarely turned a hair or surrendered to his emotions. Becoming acquainted to such an active lover in bed was enough of a challenge, but having to accustom herself to moods like this - shit, who was she kidding? His melancholy demeanor, his mood swings - they were as much of a turn-on as his sexy cleft chin and blue eyes. "Why can't we be the same age? Why can't I have known you all my life?"

"I was as much of a dickhead as most young guys."

"I don't believe that for a second. You and I are born romantics, I can't see you would have changed that much. I'll bet you were as intense and as considerate and romantic and as good in bed as you are now."

He examined her, one eyebrow raised. "Maybe. Guess you'll never know."

"Hey, I'm perfectly happy with things like this. I hope, for any woman's sake, that you were." She kissed his cheek. "Damn, you're hot when you cock that eyebrow."

"You've got it down to perfection, too, Ms Sidle. In fact, I seem to recall that we have many shared mannerisms."

"Well, you know as a biologist that symmetry is practically a pre-requisite for choosing a mate."


	10. Chapter 10

"Gil?" Catherine stood at the door to Grissom's office. "Can I have a word with you?"

Grissom removed his glasses and looked up. "Ye-es?" She was the last person he wanted to speak to today. He was still concerned about Sara, and tonight wasn't a night that he needed Catherine getting his back about something.

"You noticed a change in Sara? Like, maybe she took my advice and got laid?" She propped her shoulder against his door frame and folded her arms across her chest.

He looked at her, his eyes flashing dangerously. "Why would she take your advice?"

Catherine shrugged. "I can see you didn't."

"Oh, you're pushing your luck, now. That's a nice shirt you've got on, how about I send you another dumpster dive?" He pursed his lips, knowing that whilst Sara may have found it sexy, it would have inspired the fear of God in anyone else.

"Don't blackmail me, Gil. Is she seeing someone?" Grissom nodded, and her mouth dropped open. "Who? Someone from night-shift?" Again, a head gesture. "Nick? Warrick? Greg?"

"Nope." He was going to enjoy stringing her out as long as possible.

"Bobby? _Hodges_?" At this, they both laughed. "Doc Robbins? David?" Grissom rolled his eyes. "Not _you_."

"Yep. So just keep shtum, okay? It wasn't supposed to get out, and I don't know if she'd appreciate me letting you know. Actually, I think I should run it by her, so could you go find her for me? I think she's in one of the layout rooms."

When Sara arrived at his office, it was all he could do to stop himself from locking the door, drawing the blinds and throwing her down on his desk. "Hey," he croaked, leaning back in his chair.

"What can I do for you?" she asked, smiling beatifically.

"Take a seat, honey," he said, cursing himself for his momentary lack of control. "Uh, the long and short of it is that Catherine subjected me to '20 questions' and sussed that we are ... together. I didn't want to tell her. Shit, I didn't wanna tell anyone until we'd discussed it." He pulled a face. "I'm sorry," he apologised.

Sara's brain raced over what he had just told her. It appeared that Catherine had always been aware of the torch Sara held for Grissom, and the fact that he held an equally bright one for her, regardless of whether or not he actually branished it over his head. So it didn't surprise her that Catherine had been the one shrewd enough to put two and two together, add four, take away five and add one to get four. "To be honest, it doesn't bother me that much. I appreciate it that you wanted to talk things over, and I'm truly grateful for your consideration, but it's not that big a deal."

Grissom's brow furrowed. "But our relationship, both professional and personal, could have major implications for our work. If we were co-workers, maybe that would be more acceptable, but the fact that I'm fifteen years your senior, as well as your supervisor - that's when shit starts to hit the fan."

"Why don't we cross that bridge when we come to it. Let's just enjoy the worry-free time we have together."

Grissom rubbed his eyes. "I could always resign. Or renounce my position as a supervisor. Or request a move to day-shift. Or ...".

"Gil, honey, just. Shut. Up. We will deal with it as it happens. And _as_ it happens, I've been looking into a career change myself. Possibly teaching, or maybe the federal branch."

"What would you teach?"

"I wouldn't have to specialise. Look, why don't we go to yours after work, and we can discuss it in more depth then."

"By 'discuss', do you mean 'possibly make love'?" he asked, face lighting up into a cheeky grin.

"Maybe," Sara conceded. "But maybe it's a better idea to just get on with work at the moment. Okay?"

_"I'm_ supposed to be the one saying that," he chided. "Back to work. And if you need me, you know where I am."

"Love you, babe." She stood up and blew him a kiss.

"I love you too, sweatheart." He smiled sincerely, and the corner of his mouth creased upwards. _When the hell did _that_ happen?_ he wondered.


	11. Chapter 11

I'M SORRY FOR ALL THE (SORT-OF) SMUT AT THE MOMENT, I'VE BEEN READING CONCOFLEX AND SMACKY 30. I RECOMMEND BOTH OF THEM.

"So."

"I just get in from work, and the first thing you say is 'so?' No 'did you have a nice day?' No 'honey, you're back, I missed you?' No _kiss_?" Grissom hang his jacket on the hook by the door and rolled his sleeves up.

Sara smiled and handed him a glass of wine, which he accepted appreciatively. "I was just anxious to know what you've decided to do about what we discussed earlier."

"Oh. I haven't decided anything. I was under the impression that this would be a joint discussion and decision-making thing." He sipped the wine, and eyed her suspiciously. "Why? What's goin' on?"

She spotted the panic on his face, and touched his arm. "I think that no matter what we decide, or don't decide, the sooner we tell the sheriff about our situation, the less stressed-out we'll be."

"Stressed out? Honey, I'm anything but stressed out," he excalimed indignantly.

Sara's arms folded across her chest. "Yeah, right. 'Cause the last time we made love, it took you a little longer than normal to ... get it up." She winced, knowing that it probably wasn't the best way to approach the situation, but she didn't feel like being helpful.

"You carry on like that, we won't need to tell the goddamn sheriff _anything_," Grissom hissed. "It'll be over."

"Are you so ashamed of a small thing like that? Sorry, wrong phrasing," she squeaked, closing her eyes in frustration.

"Sara, I _was_ stressed, okay? But not because of work. I was just a little - wound up," he finished.

"Whatever. Look honey, you've given me enough decent nights - last time was great too, and if it makes you feel any better, the anticipation was _so_ damn worth it." She smiled hopefully.

Grissom groaned in agony and took a seat. "You don't get it. It was embarrassing enough that it took a little while longer. Talking about it isn't making me feel any damn better. This is my nightmare," he confessed, holding her gaze evenly.

Sara cocked her head and replied to his gaze with curiosity. "What is? Why?"

"Not being able to perform for you, not being able to pleasure you - I was always worried that things would come down to this. I was always scared it would drive you away." He stared at the wine glass.

Sara took a seat next to him. "If you didn't wanna do it, why didn't you just say? I wouldn't have thought any less of you for not wanting to make love," she told him gently.

"I didn't want to disappoint you," he said, his voice barely audible.

"I'll tell you what. We'll abstain. Let the tension build up and up and up until we can take it no longer, and then we can just have hot sex in the first safe, private place we can find." There was still a smile on her face, but she was deadly serious.

"If you think it will help," Gil replied uncertainly.

She squeezed his leg, and felt him stiffen. In every sense of the word. "I'm thinking we might not hae to wait all that long," she murmured. She caught the look in his eye too late, and she found herself trapped between him and the couch.

He practically tore his shirt off, then rapidly unbuttoned hers, despite his shaking fingers. His mouth was all over her, and she groaned beneath his touch. "Neither do I," he growled. "Is right here okay for you?" he asked breathlessly.

"Wherever, as long as it's just you and me," Sara replied, equally breathless. She tugged at his belt.

"Do you have anything we can use on you right now?" His fingers trailed down her now-bare hips, searching for her patch.

"My week off," she answered, grabbing his hand and guiding him lower, thrusting it in her. She groaned, and her hips bucked up. Grissom peeled off his belt and trousers, slipping out of the boxers as quickly as he could. "Don't worry about it," Sara warned, seeing that look on his face. "It's safe for us to make love without protection," she assured him. "Besides, if you stress, you might lose it," she added.

Grissom shook his head. "I've always been responsible," he answered, withdrawing his hand. He reached for his trousers and pulled his wallet out, fumbling for the foil packet. He ripped it open in record time and slipped on the latex sheath, then returned his hand to its previous position. Sara ground against it until she was ready, then grabbed him and guided him again. Massaging her with one finger, he plunged into her, causing her to cry out loud. He responded with a groan, and automatically initated a rapid, brutal rhythm.

"Ow, Griss, calm down," Sara pleaded. He slowed slightly, just enough for them to maintain arousal but slow enough to be tender. She smiled at him, pushed up against his heaving body. "That's better."

Grissom buried his face in her neck, felt her agonising separate pace driving below him, making him derlirious. All of a sudden he spasmed with a groan, and gave one last push against her. She tightened her grip on his back and moaned against his neck, tightening then loosening up.

"You okay?" he whispered, kissing the soft, sensitive flesh of her neck.

"Yeah," she gasped. "You? Wasn't too stressful?"

Grissom grinned. "Nope. But I suppose we gotta sort out what we're gonna tell the sheriff," he added. He sat up and pulled on his trousers, handing Sara hers.

She nodded. "What will we say?"

"We'll just tell him that we are romantically involved and tell him how long we've been together, and that we wanted to tell him in order for him to make a decision about what course of action should be taken."

"So you've been involved for a month?" The sheriff gazed intently at the to CSIs standing before him. "Well, considering how short an amount of time that is, I would have said that it's a littlesoon to be making these pronouncements." He stood and paced. "Why did you tell me?"

"We thought it would be best to inform you as soon as possible, sir," Sara answered. "We didn't want there to be rumours, we felt you should hear from us. Plus, we don't want people questioning our professionalism. Dr Grissom and I are both responsible, mature adults, who realise that although there is nothing specifically stated about supervisor-subordinate relationhips, they can make for uncomfortable situations. We also realised that the sooner we informed you, you would be able to make the appropriate arrangements, perhaps promote Catherine Willows to a position of higher responsibility. Oversee my assignnments and do my evaluations. To prevent any favouritism."

The sheriff considered what he was being told. "Do you have anything to add, Gil?"

Grissom took a breath. "Only that we are serious about continuing this relationship. But neiter of us want to lose our jobs, either. Everything is equally important here. We have discussed this, and I have tried to put Ms Sidle on several cases with me, to ensure that we could remain professional when working with eah other. But that's not an issue - nothing has changed in that I respect Ms Sidle's professional abilities - I'm sure her file will prove that she is perfectly capable, an asset to any lab."

"I appreciate your integrity and honesty in this matter," the sheriff told them. "I'll get back to you in a couple of days, let you know what decision I'm going to make, but apart from the suggestions you've already made, I can't see there being much of a problem. You may go."

They each thanked the sheriff, and Grissom respectfully held the door open for Sara.


	12. Chapter 12

Grissom and Sara once again stood in front of the sheriff's desk, behind which the sheriff and Conrad Ecklie sat. "Conrad and I have discussed this between ourselves, and as Mr Ecklie is slightly concerned about your relationship, we thought it only fair to bring the issue to light."

"What seems to be the problem, sir?" Sara inquired.

"Just over a year ago, Mr. Ecklie requested that you be fired for insubordination. Dr Grissom refused the request."

Sara cast a questioning glance over at Grissom. "I was only aware of such an order," Sara said truthfully.

"Dr. Grissom?" the sheriff asked.

"It is true that Ms. Sidle was insubordinate to a superior, Ms. Willows. But that was specific to one case, one that dredged up several personal issues with Ms. Sidle. I discussed these issues with Sara, and was satisfied that such an incident would not occur again. I'm sure you're aware of the DUI," Grissom said. The sheriff and Ecklie nodded. "The issue that such a charge spawned from was related to the insubordination. A case hit too hard to home, and Ms. Sidle wasn't able to cope. But she's received counselling, and we've managed to resolve the issues as best as is possible."

"Ms. Sidle, to what extent were you aware of this happening?" Ecklie sneered.

"After I had been sent home for one week's unpaid suspension, Dr. Grissom visited me to see why I had flown off the handle, so to speak. He told me that Mr. Ecklie had wanted me to be fired, and I was under to impression for a while that I was still going to be fired."

The sheriff bobbed his head again. "But you were not in a relationship with Dr. Grissom at this time?" Sara shook her head. "And I see you've never filed for sexual harassment at all." He looked over the papers strewn about in front of him, and turned to Ecklie. "Would you excuse us for a moment, Dr. Grissom, Ms. Sidle?" he said after whispering with the stoat-like man next to him.

"God, this is horrible," Sara complained, pacing up and down in front of the office. Grissom took her arm and guided her to a chair, passing her a cup of water from the water cooler.

"There's nothing we can do except wait," he told her gently. Resisting the temptation to physically comfort her, he simply sat back, crossed his legs, and snuck the occassional glance at the brunette next to him.

Five minutes later, the sheriff's door opened. "We're ready for you again." When they were both inside, the sheriff resumed his position on the other side of the desk. "Given your track records, we don't have anything, really, that would righfully credit an expulsion from your positions. However, given Dr. Grissom's outlook on office politics and the role of the media, we decided that it would be best to demote him down from night-shift supervisor back to CSI Level 3. At least your position won't clash with the relationship, and action has been taken."

"You're not going to fire me?" Grissom was dumbfounded.

The sheriff smiled, whilst Ecklie simply glowered. "Dr. Grissom, you moved this lab from fourteenth in the country to second. I need you around, and I need Ms. Sidle's impressive solve rate," he said, his smile devoid of warmth. "But if I hear anything about he two of you indulging on company time, being late, anything that I can even _remotely_ directly linking the situation and your relationship, I will fire Ms. Sidle." His face sobered. "Am I clear?" Ecklie smirked slightly.

"Sir." Grissom's arms tightened at his side.

"Sir, thank you sir," Sara replied, slightly more warm than Gil.

"Dismissed," the sheriff replied.

Grissom pulled out a bottle of wine when they got home.

Sara cocked an eyebrow. "A bit early for that, don't you think?"

Grissom shrugged. "Don't care. I need to de-stress, and I want to celebrate." Catching her questioning gaze, he elaborated. "No more paperwork. Catherine gets what she wants. I get what I want. You get what you want. I hope," he added, dragging the cork from the bottle. He poured them both a glass. "I propose two toasts," he said. "Firstly, to Catherine - may she revel in the world of politik." They raised their glasses. "And secondly, to me and you. To our relationship. To us," he finished flatly, unsure of what else to say.

Sara eyed him. "So, what do you wanna do tonight?"

"Honey, I'm too tired for the obvious," he apologised, pulling a face. "But I thought maybe just sit and read, or watch television."

"I'll order a pizza," she said. "What would you like?" She looked up and caught his hungry gaze. Even if he was tired, he would probably want some sort of relief tonight, and she had a plan. She approached him, smiling coyly, and wrapping her arms around his waist.

He sighed happily, not oblivious to what she was doing. "You," he whispered in her ear. "But I guess I'll have to settle for ham and pineapple."

"Maybe we can share dessert," Sara whispered back, her tongue flicking out to touch his earlobe. "Maybe I'll go first," she hinted, pressing herself against him gently. She squeezed him one last time, then released him to order their food.

"What did you get?" Grissom asked around a mouthful of ham, pineapple and mozarella."

"Mushroom and marscapone," she replied around an equally cheesy slice. "God, these pizzas are the best." She rolled her eyes in enjoyment, reminding Gil of how she looked when they had sex. He felt an involuntary stiffening in the trouser department, wondering if it really _was_ him, or whether Sara had put starch down his pants. He could never remember getting this turned on by a woman, even Sara herself. In the old days, when the sexual tension was at its height, he would simply go home and ... let it all out, quite literally. But now they were a couple, he hadn't done it on his own since before they got together. It was annoying if only because he found that he needed to de-stress more often now, but preferred to wait - masturbation was nothing compared to the pleasure he got from _her_. And so he found himself frustrated much more often. Still, he loved her, and he loved the anticipation, so she was well worth it.


	13. Chapter 13

"Is dessert still on the cards?" Grissom's tone was wheedling, and Sara smiled to herself. She didn't answer, and instead retrieved a couple of bottles of water from the kitchen. "Sara?"

"Yes?" The left-hand corner of her mouth rose in tandem with her left eyebrow, and he wanted her right there and then.

"Is dessert still on the cards?" he hissed, his voice low and precise, flooded with lust.

"Depends on what we have in," Sara smiled, and cocked her hip.

Grissom groaned. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Sara feigned innocence.

"Just ... don't."

"I'll tell you what. Dessert will only go ahead if you allow me to go first. How does that sound?" She approached him, hips swinging, hands loose at her sides.

"What did you have in mind?" he purred, his voice deep and soft. His question was answered when he felt Sara's fingers tug down the zip on his trousers. A happy sigh passed through his lips, and he closed his eyes. Sara kissed his bottom lip once, then traced her lips over his shirt-front, and she took up a kneeling position. He groaned when she freed his erection and slipped her mouth around it, taking him in. He braced his hands on her shoulders, one cupping her chin in a gesture of tenderness. He felt her savour him, and then it became too much. "Sara," he gasped. "Stop, otherwise I'll come," he pleaded.

Sara's lips released him. "That's the point," she explained, her voice husky and slick. She captured him again, and he thrust himself against her, crying out loud, sagging slightly. He felt Sara tuck him back inside his boxers and pull his trousers up. She zipped and buttoned him together, one hand resting on his waist, the other stroking his cheek. He gave her a curious look and she nodded in affirmation, pressing her mouth to his. As they opened up more, he received another confirmation, her tongue wet with his essence. She moaned lightly, pulling him to her, enjoying the feeling of him.

"God, Sara, I ... I don't know what to say. That was exquisite. But now it's my turn to feast," he told her sternly. He pulled her to him, leading her to the bedroom.

Naked, she straddled him, and he sat up, putting his arms around her waist, pressing kisses to her chest. "My appetite is sated now," he spoke, voice muffled against her skin.

"Mm, that was good," Sara agreed. "You ever wonder where we get the capacity to pleasure each other like this?" She cupped his face, gazing into his adoring eyes.

"The desire to want to be able to provide a decent diversion?" Grissom shrugged, his fingers tracing over her hips and thighs. "Hank must have been mad to cheat on you," he whispered, watching her eyes.

"Technically, he cheated on someone else _with_ me. You have no idea how bad I felt about that," she added, closing her eyes in embarrassment.

Grissom squeezed her gently. "Honey, it's not _your_ fault he was a bastard. You weren't to know. Although I sometimes question your tatse in men," he grinned.

"Oh, boy, you're fucked," Sara replied in jest.

"I know. Only five minutes ago," he smiled. He thought for a second. "You ever thought about where this is going?"

"Where what's going, honey?" she inquired, elegant eyebrows arching.

"_This. Us._ Have you thought about our future?" His gaze could only be described as reverent.

"Yes," Sara confessed. "Why? Have you?" Grissom nodded. "Why do you ask?"

"I ask because I want there to be a definite resolution. I want to definitely know where we'll be in five, ten years."

Sara's eyes filled with tears. "You see us together _then?_"

"Yes. Why? Don't you?" Sara shook her head. "Good. I just ... I picture myself marrying you, but what about kids?"

Sara became uncomfortable. "Not good with them," she said simply.

"You are. I'm not," Grissom contradicted. "I don't know how you feel about kids. Whether you want your own. Whether you want to adopt. Whether you want any at all."

"What about you?"

"I'd adopt. I don't believe in bringing children into a world like this, when there are many children who aren't wanted." He caught Sara's eye. "What?"

"You shock me more and more every day. I didn't know you had this in you."

"How do _you_ feel?"

"I don't know if I can have children."

"Oh?"

"I don't wanna go there," she said quickly. "But I agree with what you sad about adoption."

Grissom regarded her gently but curiously. "Cool," he replied. He removed his hands from her hips and gave her a final kiss. "I'm gonna go and get a shower, okay honey?"

Sara kissed back. "I'll use the bath then," she said. She climbed off him and sauntered to the bathroom, her beautiful bottom filling Grissom with longing and love and concern. There was something she wasn't telling him, about why she thought she might not be able to have children.


	14. Chapter 14

_Knock knock knock._

"Yeah?"

"Can I come in?"

Grissom looked at Sara, who had taken up her usual place in his office doorway. He shrugged. "Sure."

She closed the door behind her and took a seat. "What?" He was looking at her with those eyes, his gaze of uncertainty.

Grissom sighed and leaned back in his chair, dropping his pen on the desk in front of him. "What's going on?"

Sara frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean. You're not tellin' me stuff again, and now you just drop by in the middle of shift? What's going on, Sara?" He regarded her intently, taking his glasses off and placing one of the arms between his teeth.

Sara pursed her lips. "You know what? Forget I even came in. I'll see you later," she spat, standing and wheeling around.

"Sara," Grissom pleaded. She stopped dead, hand outsretched for the door handle. "I can't make it better if you don't tell me what's wrong."

She looked into his eyes, those baby blues that had stared back at her so often, that held her gaze when they made love. She couldn't keep doing this to him, couldn't keep hurting him, couldn't keep hiding things to protect him from her and what had happened to her. Dejectedly, she returned to the seat. "There's something I didn't tell you about when I was raped."

Grissom leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the desk. "What?" he asked gently.

"Last night, when we were talking about kids?" Grissom nodded. "I can't have them."

"I know. You said. Why?"

Sara cast her eyes down to his arms sprawled on the desk and remembered how they held her. It helped her remain calm and focused. "About two weeks after I was ... I was due a period. I kept, and still keep, strict observation of my menstrual cycle." She allowed herself a wry smile. "I didn't menstruate. I knew straight away. I got a pregnancy test, went to the student support, booked myself into a clinic." She sighed harshly, keeping the tears at bay. "I kept telling myself 'It's only two weeks old. It's not human, it can't feel anything.' I ... I killed an innocent human being, Gil," she declared, tears now stinging her eyes.

"Oh, honey," he whispered, reaching over and taking her hand. "You didn't have a choice."

She lifted her head and smiled at him tearfully. "I did. I could have chosen not to. But I couldn't handle it."

"Sara, I was there for you then, too. I was your friend then, just like I am now. I would have helped, I would have been there for you."

"I know, and I wouldn't have done that to you. It wouldn't have been fair."

"So ... why can't you have kids?"

"They fucked up the procedure, I don't know how. I became ill after the procedure and went back to get some blood tests done. I contracted an infection, improperly sterilised instruments. It was in my womb. They didn't perform a hysterectomy, but they said the chances I'd be able to conceive were negligible." She closed her eyes, the only feeling she could sense being Grissom hand holding hers.

"I'm sorry," Grissom said in a small voice. He waited for her to open her eyes. "You want the rest of the day off? Go home, regroup?"

"I'll be okay," she said weakly, smiling unconvincingly.

"Stay in the lab, then," he told her. Upon seeing her indignation, he smiled. "Always working yourself into the ground," he said. "I'm gonna stay here, do some paperwork. You need anything, come find me." She moved her head in affirmation. "What did you wanna see me about? How come you knocked?"

"Just wanted to say hey," she muttered.

"Hey," he said. "Look, go and see what's going on around the lab, see if anyone needs a hand, and if not, come back here. You can give me a hand with this paperwork."

_So sweet. So kind. So condiderate._ "I love you."

"I love you too. Maybe see you in a few minutes?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thanks for before." Sara rested her head against Grissom's shoulder, savouring the feel of muscle and cotton sheets against her bare skin.

"You're welcome," he told her, drowsy and semi-content. He squeezed her waist and shifted his head so that it lay partly on top of Sara's. He could feel and smell her hair, and felt affection wash over him. "How're you feeling now?"

Sara blew out air, cooling the muscles on his shoulder. "I don't know," she confessed. She raised herself up, propping her chin on her right arm, and regarded Gil. "Do you still want me?"

Grissom sat up, resting his hands on his thighs. "What? Why wouldn't I want you?" He turned to look at her, moving his whole body, rolling on to her lightly. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Of course I want you, sweetheart."

"But I can't give you children."

"What makes you think I want kids?"

"But yesterday ...".

"Children - that was speculation, yesterday. Honey, just 'cause you might _not _be able to have children - doesn't make me love you any less. And like I said, I don't believe in having children. I'd rather adopt." She still looked uncertain, and he pressed his lips to her eyes. "Sara, believe me, please. I want you. I have you. Do you know how happy that makes me? That it's just us two, lying here." He looked at her desperately. "What can else can I say? What can I do to make you believe me."

Sara smiled and touched his face, tracing her fingers over his lips. "I do believe you. I just can't quite get my head around the fact that any guy wants me ... doesn't mind that I can't give him a child. Especially a biologist."

"Oh, honey, you give me everything I need, and so much more. Just because I'm a biologist, I don't necessarily subscribe to the belief that it's my natural prerogative to create a child. Being a CSI - seeing what humans do to one another - I couldn't be morally culpable for bringing a human into a world like this." He kissed the fingers that lingered over his cheek and lips. "Truth be told, I want to have you all to myself. I don't want to share you with anyone or anything."

"Good thing. I don't think I want anything diverting my attention from you." She pushed Gil off her and pulled his head lower, so that he could rest against the top of her chest. She pressed her lips to his forehead.

"You think we're selfish?" Grissom asked a little later on.

"No. Why? Do you?"

"No. Love you, honey." He kissed her delicate collarbone.

"Love you too." She closed her eyes, allowing sleep to flood over her.


	15. Chapter 15

TWO MONTHS LATER.

Ah, what a picture. Sara was curled up on the couch, asleep under a blanket. Grissom smiled to himself as he walked through the front door and saw her sleeping figure. Softly, he closed the door and padded over to the couch to kneel by her side.

"Gil? That you?" Her voice was pained and groggy.

"Yeah." He put a hand up to her face, brushing the hair from her eyes. "You still feelin' ill honey?" Concern flooded his voice, his blue eyes crinkled with it.

She braved a smile and nodded weakly. "Just feel a bit run-down. I was sick again before."

"That's the fourth time in as many mornings." Thinking about what he had just said, he stopped in his tracks. "Do you think you might be pregnant?" He dared not hope.

"I can't be. Remember?" She tried to sit up, but Grissom held her gently against the couch.

"When was your last period? Weren't you due last week?"

Her eyes widened. "Shit."

"What?"

"No, it can't be. Griss, babe, I'm not pregnant. I can't be." She was repeating that phrase as though it were some powerful mantra.

"It's not like we'd be expecting it. Not like we can say 'Damn, I forgot to use a condom,' or 'It must have split' or 'I forgot to put my patch or take my Pill.' We're not using precautions."

"Yeah, well don't make it sound like an accusation," Sara grumbled.

"I'm gonna go out and get you a pregnancy test, okay?"

"Gil." Her voice was dangerously low.

"Give me ten minutes, I'll be as quick as I can."

"Fine. But I'm telling you, I'm not pregnant."

"Oh shit."

"What does it say?" Grissom had been barred from watching Sara pee on the stick. "I've seen you in much more compromising situations," he had told her, but 'no' was a 'no.'

"I was wrong. According to this." Her voice sounded shocked. Not happy shocked or sad shocked. Just ... shocked.

He knocked on the bathroom door gingerly. "Can I come in?" he asked, equally soft. The door swung back, and he saw Sara there, clutching the white wand in her hand. She held it out for him to see and he swallowed. "You really are pregnant, aren't you?" he asked in wonder.

Sara eyed him curiously. "Why the change of heart?

"Huh?" Grissom frowned.

"I'd have thought you'd want me to get rid of it. You don't want kids, do you?" This was hard for her to grasp.

Grissom smiled and pulled her into his arms. "You're pregnant when you thought you couldn't have kids. Surely that's something worth celebrating. And I certainly wouldn't ask you to go through another abortion." He squeezed her. "No honey, I'm happy for you. For us. We're gonna have a baby." He pulled away. "If that's what you want," he added hastily. "I mean, I gotta get used to the idea, but ... a baby. And it's not as if we can just say 'Well, we're not having it' - we didn't take certain precautions, and this is what happens. This is responsibility," he added sftly.

Sara gazed at him in shoock. "What the fuck? It's a human, Gil. Never mind 'we have to face the consequences of our actions,' it's a fucking living thing. And yes, I _do_ want it."

"Hey, hey. I'm just ...". He closed his eyes and swore under his breath. "I'm not saying it's _not_ human. I'm saying, we have no right to kill it just because we weren't careful. I'm not trying to say that it's our fault,or that we should have been careful. I may not have wanted to bring a child into the world, but I take my responsibilities seriously." He heaved a massive sigh, his whole frame shifting.

Sara continued to look at him, and she shook her head mutely. "You need to be careful about how you word things. You could really end up offending someone."

"You love me for it," he replied. He turned serious. "So, what would you like to do? 'Cause you know that I'll support you whatever you want to do." He hugged her again, his voice muffled against her hair. "And for the record, I think you'd look hot with a baby bump."

"Shut up before you start influencing my decision," she joked. "Come and sit in bed with me, and we'll talk it through."

Grissom smiled. "I mean it. Whatever your decision, I'll be there."

YEAH, APOLOGIES FOR THE SHORTNESS OF THIS CHAPTER, BT I'D RATHER START THE TALK IN A NEW CHAPTER. AND APOLOGIES FOR THE PREDICTABILITY OF THIS CHAPTER. I'M NOT TRYING TO INSULT ANYONE'S INTELLIGENCE, BUT CSI'S COMING ON AND ... YEAH, YOU GET THE PICTURE.


	16. Chapter 16

OKAY, I WOULDN'T HAVE DONE THIS NORMALLY, BUT I FEEL LIKE BEING NASTY. THIS CHAPTER FEATURES A CHARACTER DEATH (SORT OF). I WOULD ALSO LIKE TO APOLOGISE IF I APPEARED TO BE CONDEMNING OF ABORTION AFTER SOME OF THE THINGS THAT WERE PUT IN THE LAST CHAPTER - FOR THE RECORD, I AM PRO-CHOICE. NOT THAT IT SHOULD MATTER, BUT ANYWAY.

"Ow." Sara shifted in the bed, knocking into Gil. She felt him turn on his side and put an arm around her.

"What's up? You awake?"

"My stomach. I've got a really bad ... ow, _fuck_, that hurts," she whimpered.

Grissom sat up in concern and pulled the bedsheet back. "Holy shit." Her side of the undersheet was covered in blood. "Sara," his voice was dangerously close to breaking. "Sara, honey, I think you're having a miscarriage."

Sara was writhing in agony on her side of the bed, and she felt Grissom slip his arm around her waist . "God, it hurts," she moaned, clutching her stomach.

"Sara, I'm going to call the hospital and let them know we're coming. I'm gonna drive you there," he said, reaching for his phone. When he had placed the call, he gently pulled Sara up and reached for his dressing gown, wrapping her in it. "Don't worry about the blood," he soothed, helping her walk to the door.

"I can't, Griss, it hurts too much." She stumbled slightly, and Grissom swung his arms under her legs, picking her up and carrying her the rest of the way out of the apartment and to the car.

Grissom sat in a chair in the sterile hospital corridor, watching Sara being put under anaesthetic. He hadn't been allowed to be with her since they had arrived at the hopital, and it was killing him. Not being allowed to be with her, not being allowed to hold her hand and comfort her - it was torture.

"Gil, I heard. I'm sorry." Brass ambled along the slick white tiles, hands in pockets, looking bashful. Brass had been the only person they'd informed about the pregnancy. "How's she doin'?"

Grissom turned his head slightly, not taking his eyes from Sara. "They're taking her in for surgery to make sure that there's nothing left ... y'know ... inside," he swallowed.

"How are _you_ coping?" Brass took a seat next his friend, observing the turmoil and pain and concern etched across his face.

Grissom shrugged. "I'm just so worried about Sara. I ... I can't _do_ anything," he groaned in exasperation. "She's lying there in pain, and I'm sitting here, nothing wrong with me. Why isn't it _me_ lying there?" He put his head in his hands, then shot up and stood at the glass window, gazing forlornly at Sara's prone body.

"She'll be fine," Brass assured him. "She's in good hands. Don't worry." He knew his words would go unheeded.

"Hey." Grissom kneeled by Sara's hospital bed, holding her hand as she came around. "How're you feelin'?" He was trying desperately to keep the tears from his voice and eyes.

"Ugh," came her semi-coherent groan. "I'm still in pain," she said.

"What about up here?" He put a finger to her temple and stroked gently. He bent over and kissed her temple tenderly.

"I'm ... I can't grasp it. I ... I ...".

Grissom nodded and squeezed her hand. "It's okay," Grissom murmured. "Is there anything I can do?"

Sara shocked him. She lifted her head slowly and smiled at him. "Aside from punching a wall, just _be there_. You know?" And that was it. She'd read him a like a book - she could tell he was hurting, and as a male, was unable to articulate those feelings appropriately. Thus, his pain was embodied in aggression. "How are you?"

"Concerned about you, honey," he said.

A doctor 'ahemmed' and knocked on the door. "Ms. Sidle." They both looked up. "We had to perform a D and C. It was a miscarriage, I'm afraid, and so we had to evacuate your womb. If you want, um, we can refer you to a counsellor."

Grissom looked at Sara, but she shook her head. "Uh, no, we should uh, we should be able to cope." She squeezed Grissom's hand for comfort.

The doctor nodded. "You will feel a little pain for the next few days. We gave you a pretty strong anaesthetic, so stay off any unprescribed meds. We can give you some painkillers, but you can only take one every four hours." He looked at Grissom. "Are you her partner?" Grissom nodded. "She's in capable hands, then. I'll leave you to it. Um, stay for another hour or so, wait for the drugs to wear off. Okay?"

Grissom wouldn't let Sara do anything when they got in. "No. Bed, now."

"But honey, I need to get washed."

Grissom rolled his eyes. "Okay. I'll draw you a bath. Then I'll bathe you."

Sara raised her eyebrows. "You sure?"

"Honey, I'm looking after you, okay? Just let me care for you, please?" He saw Sara nod. "Good. Bathroom, now. I'll sort everything out."

"Bath's ready," he called out, squatting by the side of the tub with his sleeves rolled up. He watched her step out of her gown, and he helped her into the bath tub. "Is the water okay?" he asked as she sat down.

"Ooh, that's nice," she gushed, feeling the water swish around her. She caught his eye, those teal pools brimming with love and sadness. "What?"

He wet a sponge and poured shower gel on to it, gently using it to wash her body. "Are you okay?"

"I'm as okay as I can be," she admitted. "I'm disappointed, yeah." She took a breath and forced a smile. "But ...".

"Yes?" He paused his ministrations to gaze at her reverently.

"But ... but it was a cluster of cells. It didn't have fingerprints. It didn't kick. I wasn't aware that it was _inside_ my womb. So part of me ... I'm scared shitless at seeing all this blood, and being in so much pain. But then, I ... oh, I don't know," she muttered angrily.

Grissom rubbed her back tenderly. "You don't have to justify yourself, sweetheart. I know how you feel."

Sara leaned back and closed her eyes, enjoying the careful touch of his fingers. "You do?"

"Yeah. To be honest, I was more concerned about the effect it would have on you. Y'know, after ... everything." He shrugged helplessly. "The thing that got to me most was seeing you lying there, and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. They wouldn't let me hold you, wouldn't let me comfort the woman I love." He began to rinse the foam from her body gently, cleansing each body part tenderly.

"I know," she replied simply. "I love you," she murmured.

Grissom helped her up out of the bath and towel-dried her willowy body, kissing her shoulders carefully. He wrapped her up in her robe, and insisted on carrying her to bed. He pulled back the covers and laid her down between the sheets, brushing the hair from her eyes.

"I'll be here if you need me," he said. "I'll be here if you don't need me. I'll just be here."

Sara nodded and closed her eyes.


	17. Chapter 17

I COULDN'T BE HORRIBLE FOR LONG. THIS IS (I THINK) THE LAST CHAPTER. THEN AGAIN ...

EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER.

"One last push, Sara, one last push." Gil crouched over the hospital bed, hodling Sara's hand.

"It hurts," she gasped, in between pushing.

The doctor stood at the other end of the bed, peering between Sara's stirruped legs. "I can see the had," he proclaimed. "One last good push, Mrs Grissom, and we'll have it."

Grissom was feeling slightly jealous, watching the doctor observing a parts of Sara _he_ felt he had the only right to see. He turned his atention back to Sara and grabbed her hand. "Squeeze as hard as you can and push, honey," he encouraged, wincing momentarily as she took him up on his offer, crushing his hand, pushing and screaming out loud at the same time.

Sara felt the pressure be released from her body, and heard a feeble cry. She leaned back in the bed and closed her eyes, gathering her breath. She felt a gentle hand push her sweat-soaked hair from her face, and a thumb caressed her cheek. She opened her eyes and saw Grissom, and she smiled weakly. "Hey."

Grissom couldn't keep the tears and reverence from his expression. "I am so proud of you honey," he whispered. "So damn proud of you, you cannot even know. Thank you."

"For what?"

Grissom stood and accepted the tiny bundle from the doctor, who had just finished checking and cutting the umbilical cord. "All digits present and correct, proper response. Congratulations on the birth of your daughter," the doctor said sincerely.

Gil stared at the baby in wonder, never thinking he could feel what he felt holding this tiny living thing in his arms. He turned back to Sara and carried their daughter to her, a massive smile on his face. "It's our daughter, sweetheart," he gushed.

Sara sat up and held her hands out, accepting their child. She gazed at the baby and felt a gush of love for this tiny thing. Like Grissom, she was taken aback by this flood of maternal feelings, but the one thing on her mind now, more pressing than the pain of labour, was protecting this child. Grissom sat on the bed next to her and put an arm around his family. "Who'd've though it?" she asked, resting her head on Grissom's shoulder.

"I know," he agreed tacitly. He looked up to the door and saw Brass and Catherine crowding to get in. "Can you give us a few minutes?" he asked. "Unless you wanna take a photo," he added.

Sara nudged him. "Sounds like a good idea," she said, and Brass reluctantly came forward, taking the camera that Grissom handed him.

"Whaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" Somewhere in the apartment, a baby screamed. Sara stirred but Grissom held her down. "It's okay," he said. "I'll go get her." He swung his legs out of the bed and padded over to the cot and lifted the gentle little girl out. He shushed in her ear, jigging her up and down gently. He brought her over to the bed and handed her to Sara for a feed. "You sure you're comfortable with breast-feeding?" he asked, trying not to watch. Now that Sara had had the baby, he was starting to have certain desires again, but he had been very patient and well-behaved in supressing them. Despite all warnings to sit down and relax, two weeks after the birth, Sara was going back to the gym. _There's nothing wrong with your figure_, Grissom had chided. But Sara had insisted. _Sara, I _like_ your curves_. Never mind.

Sara looked at him, glad for a distraction from the slightly uncomfortable tug on her breast. "It's not all that pleasant. But why else would I be lactating?" she joked.

Grissom smiled, and crawled back under the covers. "How do you feel?" he asked. "After ... everything. Have you taken to motherhood? Or are you feeling a bit ... strange?"

Sara regarded him curiously. "It's _always_ going to be strange, honey," she said. "But I'm surprised at how easily the ... maternity ... side came along. I was scared I wouldn't feel a bond, considering I've never really wanted kids." She jostled their daughter more. "How about you?"

"Sweetheart, I'm not the important one here. I haven't just given birth. I mean, you get stuck with piles, excessive bleeding, sore breasts ... I have a lot of admiration for you," he finished, shrugging.

"Thank you. But I mean, how are _you_ feeling about everything?"

"Honestly? I wanna think of a name for our daughter, instead of just calling her 'she' or 'her' or 'our daughter' or 'our little girl'. I almost wish we'd have found out the sex of the baby." He thought for a second. "You got any ideas?"

"I don't know. I can't stop thinking about it, either. How about ... Catherine." She smiled evilly. "No? What about Sofia?"

"Okay, you stopped being funny when you suggested Catherine."

"_You_ got any ideas?" She pulled the baby from her breast and covered herself up again, burping their little girl carefully.

"Belle? Uh, I dunno. The only girls' names I know are from Shakespeare. Beatrice. Juliet. No way. How does Jane sound? Or Elizbeth?" He shrugged carelessly.

"I like Belle. We'll go with Belle," Sara said, another weight from her shoulders. She stood carefully and carried Belle back to the cot, cooing her back to sleep and tucking her up. She wearily returned to bed and Grissom put an arm around her.

"I can't believe you've already lost this much weight," he said into her neck, kissing her gently. "Tell you what. Let's wait another two months. Then we'll let someone take care of Belle, and we'll have a night together. Just you and me, doing whatever you want."

"You," she giggled. "How come?"

"We're both absolutely shattered. And we haven't been intimate in a long while. I'd like us to just have a bit of time to ourselves again. Show you I still think you're beautiful." He kissed her one last time and put a his arm across her stomach. "Love you. Thank you."

"For what?"

"For making my life complete," he said earnestly. "I have you, we have a daughter. A beautiful baby daughter. God, I love you," he breathed.

Sara settled her back into his chest and sighed comfortably. "Thank you for sticking by me. After my issues, and the miscarriage. Shit, I wasn't even sure I _wanted_ this baby," she admitted. Grissom shushed her. "No, honey. I'm as grateful to you as you are to me. I love you too," she said.

OKAY, _NOT_ THE LAST CHAPTER. BUT THE NEXT ONE WILL BE.


	18. Chapter 18

THE FINAL CHAPTER . I'VE GONE IN A COMPLETELY DIFFERENT DIRECTION THAN I THOUGHT I WOULD WHEN I FIRST STARTED THIS FIC. I'D LIKE TO THANK EVERYONE WHO'S READ IT, AND WOULD LIKE TO THANK THE DIE-HARDS FOR DEFINITELY STICKING BY ME. THANK YOU TO THOSE WHO HAVE REVIEWED. THIS IS FOR YOU!

"What would you like to do?" Grissom lay in bed, Sara snuggled against his shoulder,

"Huh?" came her sleep- and shoulder-smothered voice.

"The two months are up. Catherine said she'd take care of Belle for the weekend so you and I could have some time to ourselves. What would you like to do?"

"Spend time with you, duh," came the sarcasm-laden reply.

"Okay, fine then. Choose one item of clothing, or an accessory you'd like me to wear." He couldn't quite grasp the fact she was looking at him like that. Like she didn't fully understand what was going on.

"Nothing, preferably," she laughed. "But if pushed, you glasses. You look sexy when you wear your glasses."

Grissom nodded, relieved that she was finally cottoning on to the process. "Good. In that case, I'd like you to leave your hair naturally curly." He turned his head awkwardly to look at her. "Deal?"

Sara looked back up at the face perched above her. "Anything for you. But wouldn't you prefer a thong? Or stockings?"

"That's up to you. I'd just like your hair to be curly."

Her eyes become suspicious. "Have you got something planned?"

"Aside from a hotel room, no. I just wanted to see if there's anything you specifically wanted to do, anything you had in mind. But if you're going to give me creative control, I can think of one or two things." He smiled and sat up slowly, taking care not to knock her jaw. "If you think of anything, let me know," he whispered in her ear, going to get showered.

In the limo on the way to a quiet restaurant off-Strip, Sara drank in her surroundings. "I still can't believe you ordered a limo," she breathed. "That is the most pretentious thing you've ever done," she carried on in disbelief.

Grissom shrugged, then frowned. "Do you not like it? I thought that if we were drinking, we wouldn't be safe to drive to the hotel, and I wasn't just going to book a cab."

Sara sipped her champagne that had been poured from a chilled bottle sitting in a bucket of ice on the back seat. Taking Grissom's champagne-glass-free hand, she smiled. "Honey, just because it's pretentious, doesn't mean it's not thoughtful or romantic. Just a little unexpected, that's all." She leaned over and gently touched her lips to his, tasting fermented, fizzy grapes, aware that he was probably experiencing the saem flavour.

"I suppose that's okay," he muttered, his breath passing across her lips. "You look beautiful tonight," he added. And indeed she did. On this rare occassion, she had chosen to wear a dress, something completely out of character for her. It was a knee-length backless black dress, selected especially for the effect it would have on her husband. Knowing Gil, he wouldn't be able to keep his hands from the small of her naked back, and it had worked. Her long legs were futher exaggerated by a pair of one-inch heel sandles, with a square toe, her toenails painted a delciate gold. She, at Grissom's request, had left her hair to dry naturally, and her curls danced about her face. She had put on little make-up, just some lip gloss, and a dab of perfume at her pulse-points. A plain gold necklace rested at her throat, turning her eyes more melted and chocolatey than normal.

Grissom was equally dashing. He was wearing a light-blue shirt that set off his eyes, and a light grey tie that did the same to his hair. The rest of the suit was black. His beard was neatly trimmed, and the steel rims of his glasses glinted, adding an extra twinkle to those cobalt irises.

"So," Sara muttered. She saw Gil's questioning glance. "What are we doing?"

"First, we are going to a Moroccan restaurant. Then, we are going to the opera to see _Tosca_. After that, we shall proceed to our hotel room, where, I hope, we shall participate in many activities not suitable for extraneous ears to hear." He smiled seductively, and then it softened, became less ... sinister? Threatening? Suggestive, more like. He leaned back, pursing his lips in thought. "You think Belle will be okay with Catherine?" he mumbled.

Another smile arose on Sara's lips. "I'm sure she'll be fine. I'll keep my phone on vibrate, Catherine said she'd call immediately if there was a problem." She saw the concern on Grissom's face, noting that it was probably a physical manifestation of the slight anxiety _she_ was feeling. "Gil, honey, I know she's blown up a lab, but she managed to raise Lindsay properly," she added.

Gil winced at the mention of Catherine's misdemeanor. "Not exactly the sort of thing I need to reminded of when we've left our daughter with her," he moaned. "But I suppose Belle will be okay. Won't she?"

His concern warmed Sara's feart, endeared him to her as much as all of that night did. Knowing that he cared was a great comfort. Seeing him with Belle - Sara had always worried at her own reaction to having a child, but that had been multiplied ten-fold during pregnancy, constantly ruminating on how Gil would fare. She needn't have worried. He regularly changed her nappies (not really a surprise for a guy who frowned upon holding his breath at decomps), and was always the person to carry Belle over if she woke up in the night. He had even offered to shave his beard so that he didn't give the baby dermatitis - Sara had rapidly dismissed _that_ notion. As for herself, she had gotten over the pain of afterbirth, the hemarrhoids, the sore breasts. It had been worth that discomfort, although she hadn't felt like it at first. But seeing that baby, knowing it would be totally dependent on her and Gil ... besides, she wanted to protect it, protect it and love it unlike she had been when _she_ was a child.

"Honey, I thought tonight was supposed to be about us. Yes, it's natural to be concerned. But don't let it spoil our evening. Okay?"

Grissom nodded weakly, slightly overwhelmed at the upsurge of paternal instinct. And to think, he had never figured himself for a father.

"So, what did you think?" Grissom asked, leading Sara along the thickly-carpeted floor of the hotel.

"Of what? The food? The music? Of you trying out certain things in the back of the limo? Shit, I thought I was going to start moaning when you put your hand on my thigh in the second act of _Tosca_.

Grissom smiled, stopping at a door. "It _has_ been quite a while," he conceded. "But all that will soon be behind us," he added. "Oh, and I _was_ a little disappointed you didn't wear stockings," he added, pouting slightly.

Sara simply returned his smile. "So, what room's it this time?" she inquired, leaning against the opposite wall, her arms folded. The scene made Gil's groin stir.

"Honeymoon suite," he growled, unlocking the door and holding it open for Sara.

Before she even had a chance to observe the decor, Grissom had closed the door behind her, and pinned up her against it, kissing her roughly. She ran her fingers through his hair and groaned against his mouth. "Oh, that was _good_," she applauded him emphatically. "But how about before you commence seduction, you allow me to go and change?"

Grissom became visibly disappointed, and stood back, freeing her body. "How am I supposed to strip you?" he complained.

"Wait and see," she purred, her voice sending definite vibrations through his body. He nodded imperceptably, and watched her carry her small purse into the bathroom. Checking the bed, it was covered in rose petals, just as he'd requested. He smiled to himself, then turned precipitously when he heard Sara 'ahem.'

"Oh," he whispered, suddenly glad he hadn't carried her over to the bed straight away. Relieving his chagrin, she had taken her shoes off, leaving her dress on. The difference was that she was sporting a pair of stockings. He felt his dick strain against the fly on his trousers. "You look maginificent," he praised, voice catching in his throat. He stood to the side, allowing her to see the bed.

"Rose petals," she said. "How decadent." She appraoched Gil, and a battle of mouths, tongues and hands ensued. Grissom managed to get her to slip out of her dress, and was immedately concerned that his dick was going to tear staright through his trousers, having gained a mind of its own. All because Sara was wearing grey and black lingerie - La Perla, to be precise. Grey-and-black silk and lace bra, same-coloured thong with garter belt, and the black stockings. She took his hand and pushed it between her legs, groaning at the contact. "Go on," she urged, dragging him slowly back to the bed.

Grissom pushed her back on to it, kissing her hard. He straddled her legs and removed his tie and shirt, throwing it on the floor. Then he ran each hand slowly up each of her legs, amused and aroused at the contracting flesh between his thick fingers. He smiled and lay on top of her, bracing his forearms on either side. This time the kiss was drawn out and languid. His hands easily relieved her of her bra and panties, until all she was wearing was the garter belt and attached stockings. Kneeling back up, he reached down and torturously ran his hands along the stocking fabric, unclipping it and dragging it down her leg, repeating the process with the other. Then he made to unzip himself.

Sara caught his hand. "Allow me," she said, sitting up. Her fingers worked like a charm, and he lay back down on her, both sets of hands manipulating in ways they had neglected for a long time.

"Do we need protection?" Grissom inquired before he entered her.

Sara thought for a second, brushing damp curls from her forehead. God, the foreplay was sweatier than ever. She watched Gil's smiling face. "No. I'm using a patch." She felt his fingers seek out the spot on her, and he nodded. She grabbed him and guided him slowly into her, wincing as he breached her.

He frowned in concern and leaned back. "Are you okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?" Hands caressed her cheek and he waited for a reply.

"No, I'm fine. It's a bit ... you know ... tender?" She smiled in embarrassment. "Maybe just take it a little slower?"

He shrugged in agreement, and began a protracted entrance. Finally he was in, and she urged him on, told him not be so considerate and gentle now.

"It's been too long," she growled. So he went harder. To his credit, she never had to direct him, he knew instinctively what she needed and what she liked, and _how _she needed and liked it. And she was rubbing just as hard.

Their eyes locked as they both dropped over the edge, giving in to that momentary plunge over the abyss, holding on to each other for dear life. Then gently, tenderly, Grissom pulled out. "Oomf," was all he could say as he lay on his back, chest heaving and wet with sweat and ...

"I ... agree," Sara gasped, heart beat gradually slowing. "God, you don't know how good that felt," she moaned happily.

"Yeah I do," Gil disagreed, turning on his side and pulling her into his arms. "Damn, I love you so much, honey," he enthused.

"After that," Sara started, "I'll love you forever."

"I know. It's in the contract." They shared one last kiss, and drifted off into a deep, peaceful sleep.

Belle Grissom grew up to be a fine girl, curly hair from both genetic sides, the dimpled chin of her father, the brown eyes of her mother, inheriting the intelligence of both of them. She went on to study English Literature at Yale. Despite having some years on them, Gil and Sara still enjoy a passionate night every once in a while.


End file.
